The Genesis of the Wizards
by Hasriona 2014
Summary: Harry Potter, having settled into a life of relative normality, is a rising Auror, although is still getting used to the whole concept of "normality". The Eleventh Doctor, searching for the true meaning behind the enigma that is Clara, finds an old tale of an ancient artefact capable of revealing secrets, although his search for it plunges the two worlds together.
1. Bouncing Into Her Life

**Chapter 1: Bouncing Into Her Life  
**

March was definitely her favourite month of the year. Since she was a kid, she had always loved to observe the landscape mould from the dull cold and snow to the rich greens and warmth of the spring. She especially loved to see the leaves come out in all their various forms and colours. It all somehow reminded her of her mother; it made her smile.

These were the ambling thoughts of Clara Oswald as she stood in the living room of the Maitland household, clutching a bottle of furnishing polish in one hand and a worn-out cloth in the other, but her eyes were fixated on the emerging green nature outside the window, almost like in a trance.

She usually took small glances out of the window now and again, but not normally to view the outdoor foliage, but to see whether or not a particular blue box had emerged on the pathway outside, the first sign of impending adventure. Said 'adventure' was becoming an increasing occurrence; days had only passed in the Maitland household, but weeks had passed relative to Clara. It was all rather bemusing.

"Oh my god, no way…" came a voice that shook Clara out of her reverie. It came from the kitchen nearby. "Wait to Lauren hears about this…"

"Angie! I do hope that you're helping your brother with his maths homework, and not texting again!" called Clara, irately.

"Yes, I'm helping him, jeez Clara…"

Clara swiftly stormed into the kitchen where Angie and Artie sat at the central table; Clara saw a flash of pink suddenly dive beneath it.

"Uh – what's that! That's a phone. Gimme it…"

"You're not my mum, you can't tell me what to do-"

"Give it here Angie!"

"Fine, take it, if you want it so much…"

"That's better. Now do something useful and help your brother…"

"I was helping him, for your information…"

"Texting does not constitute as help Angie…"

"I was only taking a break. We've got most of it done, haven't we Artie?"

"We've only done question one- "

"Shut up, you're meant to lie you bender!"

"Angie! Less of that language! Just help him through the next few questions, then I'll take over. Deal?"

"Fine. Can I have my phone back afterwards?"

"No more lip, and just possibly…"

"Fine. Ok, Artie, let's look at question two. _There are forty wizards in a room. Half of them each carry one wand, two cauldrons, three cats and four brooms, whilst the other half each carry three spellbooks and five potions. How many items do all forty wizards carry in total?_"

"Wizards?" snickered Clara_. _"What are they teaching you kids these days?"

"It's a part of the new curriculum…" said Artie, "Mrs Hollyworthy told us…"

"A curriculum focusing on _wizards_? Whose harebrained idea was that? said Clara.

"I know right. I should be head of education instead; I'd ban homework and increase playtime to six hours a day…" said Angie.

"Well, to be head of education, you need to study, and study hard, so get to work you two…"

"I've already done mine, Artie just sucks at maths-"

"Hey, I don't-"

"Yes, you do, you thought six plus ten was eleven!"

"Eleven is like the only good number-"

"Not everything is equal to eleven Artie you muppet-"

"Belt up, the pair of you! Angie, help your brother count his wands and whatever else or you won't get this phone back until tomorrow morning before school, do you hear me?"

"Fine…" groused Angie.

"Right…so…twenty times by…eleven?" mused Artie.

"Where did you get eleven from? There's no eleven anywhere!"

"Angie will you please-" began Clara, but was interrupted by a sudden influx of sound beginning to resonate from somewhere outside, the overfamiliar dull metallic thrumming that progressively screeched into the room, the noise that signified only one thing.

Adventure. The only snag was that 'adventure' had come whilst the kids were home. That was a first.

"What was that noise?" asked Angie. "I've heard that before..."

"It's just a plane…" said Clara quickly.

"What plane makes that noise?" asked Artie.

"A Boeing stop-asking-questions-I'll-be-back-in-a-minute…" said Clara, running feverishly to pull on her coat from the cloakroom.

"Going somewhere?" asked Angie suspiciously.

"Didn't I ever tell you I was a fervent plane spotter?" improvised Clara.

"Since when?"

"Since forever, where you have been? Gotta love a good plane…"

The doorbell rang.

"Oh my god, have you got a date? Has Clara actually got a date?" asked Angie, grinning.

"Don't be ridiculous, I can't date a plane…"

She slammed the kitchen door and raced towards the front door without a second thought.

"Doctor!" she yelled, breathlessly yanking open the door.

"Uh…delivery, for Mr Maitland?" said the figure in the doorway, carrying a large parcel and looking thoroughly confused.

"Oh…um…thank you…I'll sign…" she said, confused, gazing around the street; the spot where the TARDIS normally arrived at was oddly empty, "You haven't seen a blue box, by any chance? Or a man dressed in purple, floppy hair, bandy legs, chin like Mount Everest?"

"No…" he said, perplexed, as Clara took the man's clipboard and signed.

"Oh…ok. Um…have a good day then!" she said, and closed the door in his bemused face.

Well that was odd, and embarrassing…where was he? She definitely heard the TARDIS, that sound was unmistakable. Maybe he would turn up eventually, he usually did…

"It was just a package, it's probably the new router. I'm gonna leave it in here, but please don't open your dad's mail, he was livid last time-"

Clara trailed off at the sight that greeted her as she entered the kitchen. Between Angie and Artie stood a man dressed in purple, with floppy hair, bandy legs, and a chin like bloody Mount Everest.

"Hmm, yes, three hundred and sixty objects in total. Odd context, mind you…" he muttered.

"You'd think they wouldn't be able to hold that much stuff…"

"Well, they're wizards, they can just use magic I guess. Oh, Clara!" he said, face lightening up.

"Doctor! How did you get in here?" she asked.

"Back door. We let him in. We thought he was your boyfriend…" said Angie, smiling deviously. "Is he? Don't lie, you're dating aren't you?"

"Both of you, up to your rooms this instant!"

"Clara's got a boyfriend, Clara's got a boyfriend!" chimed Angie.

"Rooms! Now!"

"But my maths homework!" piped Artie.

"Oh – um…later, ok-"

"All done, don't worry. Question seventeen was a bit iffy, I think I may have overcomplicated it a bit. Hmm, yes, I don't think that maths has been invented yet. Um…just copy the answers, there's a chap…" said the Doctor.

"Wow, thanks!" said Artie gratefully.

"Don't think this is the end of this!" called Angie, smirking, as the pair left the kitchen and bounded up the stairs.

Clara waited until the footsteps had subsided, closed the kitchen door, and then turned on the Doctor.

"Back door? Really? You can't just be a normal person and use the front door, like you've done every time before?"

"Hey, it's not my fault! The TARDIS has been a bit wibbly ever since Caliburn House. That pocket dimension really messed up her accuracy components…"

"So where exactly did you land?"

"Oh, you know, somewhere, rather fortunately, out of place, totally inconspicuous…"

"Doctor…where did you land?"

He pursed his lips together. "Ok, the roof, but it's not that much of a deviation against past events. I once tried to get to 1860 Naples but ended up in 1869 Cardiff, you know, met Charles Dickens, fought some zombies, the regular…"

"The _roof_? _Zombies_?"

"Long story, but yes, the roof, just above the extension by the look of things…"

"How did you get down?"

"Well I used my agility, dexterity and athletic skills to climb down in a safe and somewhat elegant manner…"

Clara then noticed something outside that made her smirk.

"You used the kids' trampoline, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"There's kind of a TARDIS in it. Just guessing it came the same way you did."

The Doctor turned around to see the peculiar site of the TARDIS lying on its side on the trampoline, which was bouncing slightly under the stress.

"Oh dear, nine hundred years of travel in time and space, and she's never looked so undignified, well, except when she was painted pink…" mused the Doctor. "Come on, help me get her the right way up…"

"You'd think all that bigger-on-the-inside stuff would break the trampoline…or the planet for that matter…" she commented.

"Matter dispersion field. All the internal weight is shifted into a black hole at the very heart of the TARDIS. Still, the weight of the outside isn't affected, and that wood is sometimes quite a hefty load…"

The pair ventured outside into the garden, and onto the trampoline.

"Hello dear, had a few too many?" he said endearingly to the fallen TARDIS.

The doors opened out sharply as if to hit him.

"Oh my goodness, did she just try and _doorslap_ you?"

"Pay attention, she's a sentient life form you know, and a bit of a women at heart…"

The doors opened out sharply again.

"Woah, calm down sexy!"

"I'm just going to do my best to ignore the fact that you just called the TARDIS _sexy_…"

"She likes the name! Now, grab that side, I'll grab this side…" he said.

The pair pulled the TARDIS into a relatively upright position, and pushed her against the side of the trampoline.

"Right then, adventure awaits…" he said, smirking his smirkish smirk and opening the blue doors.

"Doesn't it always?" she asked, smiling back, and then following him in.

The TARDIS console room felt like a second home now. The blue metallic environment felt friendly, even if the TARDIS consciousness, whatever it truly was, still gave her the cold shoulder.

"You got anything special planned?" she asked, taking her coat off and hanging it on the railings.

"I never have a plan. Plans are for normal people. Do I look normal to you?"

"Not with that chin of yours…" she quipped.

"Ooh, a tawdry quirk. From you alone I can now officially open a shop for tawdry quirks…"

"There's more where that came from, you can be sure of that…"

"I look forward to taking them _on the chin_, as they say…"

"If you take them all like that I'll run out in seconds…"

"Ooh, you're on fire today…"

"Thank you very much. But do you really not have a plan? I mean, everyone's got a plan…"

"Well, I'm not 'everyone'. Call me 'Doctor not-everyone'. No, on second thought, 'the Doctor' is much better…"

Clara chuckled.

"What's the deal with 'Doctor' anyway? You can't have just been called that from birth, right? Well, then, doctor _who_? There must be more…" she asked, arms folded, head cocked.

"There's nothing more, don't worry. Literally, in this sense, there is much more to that question than there is to that answer…"

"What, _doctor who_?"

"Yes…um, quite. It's kind of a long story, and I've haven't got the time…"

"But, we're in a time machine…"

"Yeah, well…" stammered the Doctor. "Ah, but do you know what this button does…" he said, gesturing at a particular ordinary looking button on the console.

"No, what?"

"It's the timey-wimey freezey-weezey button. Push this – ", and he did so, " - and temporal coordinates are locked, and we will stay in March 2013 until I depress it. Not a time machine in this instance…"

"Is this your attempt at avoiding the conversation, because it's really poor…"

"Nonsense. I'm simply throwing out my own tawdry quirk, is all…"

"Right…so, I guess we're travelling through _space_ in this instance?"

"Very astute. And why not? Ooh, and I've just thought of the greatest idea ever since I made a sandwich with bacon instead of bread. You can consider it my _plan _for this trip, if you want…"

The Doctor reached out and pulled a long black lever on the console; the rotor suddenly grinded into thunderous motion, and the entire machine shook like it had awoken from sleep. He daintily slalomed around the hexagonal central panel, performing his seemingly random combination of switch-pulling and button-pressing, as the TARDIS shook and roared into life.

"I've put us into random mode – we could end up literally anywhere in all space!" he shouted happily over the sound of the loud metallic thrumming. The TARDIS vibrated sharply; Clara had to lunge for the nearby railings to avoid falling over on the smooth metal floor.

"Isn't that potentially dangerous?" she yelled.

"Of course it is, how do you expect to have fun in this universe?"

"This is not much of a plan, you know!"

"This is as much of a plan as you can expect from me!"

With a final flicking of switches, the TARDIS became abruptly still and quiet.

"So then, where are we?" she asked, regaining her posture.

"Ooh, what a place to land…" he said excitedly, straightening his bowtie as he looked at the monitor screen. "_M__ercatus__ Minor_. Eighteenth moon of the seventeenth planet of the Volmittian system, Romma. Three billion light years from Earth, and its twenty degrees with a chance of strong winds later…"

"What's so special about it then?"

"It's a market world. Literally, the entire moon is one big open market. The economy is based solely on a system of barter, no monetary mechanisms, just the exchange of objects with the same perceived intrinsic value..."

"Intriguing…but do we have any items of…intrinsic value? You know, to exchange?"

"Well, take it slow now, we're not here for a shopping spree. We're here to sample the culture…"

"All right then. So what are we waiting for?"

"For you to stop asking questions…"

"I'm done with the questions! You know, except the whole '_doctor who_?' one. I'm want to know more about that later…"

"I'm sure a lot of people feel the same way about that one. Come along then Pon-uh, I mean Oswald…"


	2. The Art of Being Ordinary

**Chapter 2: The Art of Being Ordinary**

It was the crisp morning of the eleventh of March, ten months after Voldemort's death.

Harry James Potter, unhurriedly, awoke to another new day. The sound of birdsong was what roused him, echoing from the gardens around Grimmauld Place. It was pleasant to listen to, like listening to a fevered lovesong, and eventually this chit-chatter gave him enough conscience to open his eyes.

He instantly saw ginger, ginger everywhere. Ginny's red hair was spread wildly all over the pillow like wild capillaries, and he was breathing in her soft scent whilst her chest rose and fell with each of her own gentle breaths. The light peeking out from behind the nearest curtain reflected gaily off her face, making it appear dazzling and sublime.

So then. Harry's life had returned to relative normality, whatever that was. It was somewhat strange, even alien, but unquestionably welcome for the boy who had been locked in prophecy for seventeen years. It was refreshing to be able to breathe without anxiety punctuating his lungs, and to be able to think without fear lacing every thought. He had been set free.

He didn't normally think deeply about this fact as he was just then. The concept of his own freedom was something that he had either accepted very quickly, or had never fully appreciated. Either way, he sometimes felt that he wasn't well suited to an ordinary life, although its greatest gift was the beautiful girl that was currently lying in his arms. The girl that he so intently loved was now immersed into his life, and he never got tired of waking up to her dainty smile each morning. It was a blessing, something wonderfully habitual.

Harry drifted his hands leisurely, wrapping them snugly around her back, and tenderly kissed her head. He longed to drift off again with Ginny in his arms, but it was a Monday morning, and that meant work. Yes, work. Harry's life had become so 'ordinary' that he even had a _job_. That was certainly something he never expected to have whilst he was hunting Horcruxes.

Harry yawned, sitting up amongst the ruffled duvet and grabbed his glasses from the bed side table. The clock on the wall, now in focus, read half-seven. With work starting in only half-an-hour, Harry resolutely threw the duvet of his chest in a bid to get ready, if only to be interrupted by the firm grip of a warm hand around his waist.

"Mmmhpmh..." murmured Ginny, "Don't you dare freaking go, it's too freakin' cold…"

Harry sniggered, and laid back down. "Morning, then..." he whispered, giving her a soft kiss.

"Morning…" she murmured, smiling into his lips. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"Seven-thirty. I need to get ready for work, you know, so as much as I'd love to keep you warm all morning, " he said seductively, brushing his lips over the nape of her neck, "I'm going to have to regrettably decline…"

"But it's only more form filling…" she moaned, biting lightly into his shoulder.

"Well, it'll be the last day of paperwork…"

"Oh yeah, the promotion!" she said, grinning up at him.

"Yup. When I come home tonight, you'll be looking at Harry Potter, Field Auror…" he said, waving his hands dramatically. "Well, we still have to do a _bit_ of form filling, but nowhere near as much…"

"'Field Auror' sure sounds a lot better than that "Crixsom Benign" rubbish they've been calling you…"

"I know. I've told them to stop addressing me with it, but there's always the odd twat who addresses me as 'Harry Potter, Crixsom Benign'…" Harry said disdainfully. _Crixsom Benign_ was the title Harry received soon after he had defeated Voldemort, awarded for services to the '_safety and integrity of the magical world_' by the International Confederation of Wizards. Between 'the Boy Who Lived' and the 'Chosen One', it was the worst bloody title he'd ever received.

"So are you only going in for the promotion?" she asked.

"Yeah, although Aurors always have to do final tasks beforehand, maybe more forms…" he joked.

"When was paperwork ever an Auror's responsibility?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "All this paperwork crap has been unfair on you. You're an Auror for goodness' sake! You should be decimating rogue Death Eaters, not alphabetising files…"

"You know how much work the restoration has required, babe. The entire Ministry had to start from scratch. I'm just happy to do my part. Besides, I'll be a Field Auror by the end of the day, so it would have been all worth that!"

She smiled, and took his hand.

"Just don't let them _overwork_ you like that in the future, babe. I've seen how tired you've got recently, with those horrendous eleven hour shifts you got drafted in for in December. You don't deserve _that _kind of crap anymore…" she whispered tenderly, stroking his fingers.

"I won't _have_ to anymore. I'll be involved in actual cases, for the most of it, get my own office, kick some arse, not just pen-pushing…" he said, smiling.

"Will you also…get the _full_ uniform?"

"Yeah, Field Aurors are the lowest rank to get every bit…"

"Promise to wear it all the time?"

"If you want…"

"Yeah, this promotion is going to be awesome for the both of us…" she said, and they both laughed and kissed.

"Well, I best get ready, I don't want to be late for Denzel on today of all days…"

She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mention of that name. Denzel was the head of the Auror office (ever since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts), and Ginny had taken to a sincere distaste of him from the start.

"Don't give me that look, he's a nice guy at heart!" said Harry disapprovingly.

"And a blind twat everywhere else! You're probably the best Auror to ever step into that office, and he relegated you as _unimportant_. Look, I understand that the restoration process needed a lot of file management, but there were problems with those rogue Death Eaters too, and he didn't even bother to use the legendary "Crixsom Benign" against them. He just stuck you in an office, filling out endless forms, when you could have done so much more…"

"He didn't have a choice, love…"

"But _form filling_?"

"Well, they do say that the pen is mightier than the sword…" he joked.

"Then why do actions speak louder than words?" she retorted.

"Touché, Miss Weasley, touché…"

"All I'm saying is that you deserved better…"

"Well, after today, I will _get _something better, but I'm not going to get it if I'm late…"

"Fine, leave me to freeze in here!" she said dramatically as he prised himself out of her grip.

"Aren't you getting up too? I thought you had practise with the Harpies today?"

"It's not until midday. Besides, the Championship's over. We can relax for a bit, do some team building exercises, nothing that requires any real physical exertion…"

"Well, make sure that 'superstar Chaser Ginny Weasley' doesn't lose her touch; I love the bragging rights to Jonah…" said Harry, smirking, changing into his basic uniform (with Ginny watching somewhat intently).

"I'll keep up to those standards, don't you worry. Now, go get some breakfast, I'm going back to sleep…"

"Love ya, babe…" he said, kissing her cheek.

"Love you too…" she murmured, smiling, before promptly burying her head in the pillow and wrapping the duvet tightly around her. "But come home in that uniform or don't come back at all…" she quipped from beneath the covers, her voice muffled.

"Ha ha, you should definitely count on it…"

He closed the bedroom door behind him as he entered the refurnished hallway outside.

Ever since the end of the war Harry had found particular refuge in Grimmauld Place and had been key in transforming it into a family house. Every day, it was becoming more of a habitable place for him to live in – both physically and emotionally.

Ginny had helped him in that respect as well, now that they were living together. Harry had been astounded at how reasonable Molly had taken to Ginny's announcement last August that she wasn't just refusing to return to Hogwarts, but that she was moving out to live with Harry in Grimmauld Place. It was typically the sort of outburst that would lead to a fevered, loud argument from Molly, but, against all preconceptions, she allowed it, and here they were. Ginny had acquired a contract with the Holyhead Harpies, and settled in pretty quickly, to be honest.

This was normality…but seriously, what does that word even mean?

Harry made his way down the varnished oak staircase, admiring the new photo-frame that he'd recently put up on the brickwork, showing the entire Weasley family, including himself and Hermione, smiling and waving at a gathering last year. It was a personal touch, something he did on a whim, as to connect his home to his friends and family. It was also a damned nicer sight than those beheaded house elves that had lined the brickwork before .

They still visited the Burrow often, at Molly's request, for Sunday dinner. The Weasley's, especially Molly and George, had not gotten over Fred's death in the battle. Harry could sometimes see it in Molly's eyes whenever she hugged Ginny, the utmost desire to keep her family safe and intact.

Of course, that doesn't explain in itself why she let Ginny move in with him so easily. However, Harry remembered what she had said to him in September, poignant words that he would never forget:

"_You're the perfect man for her, Harry, because I know you'll always look after her. She'll always be safe with you by her side. You've done so much for our family already; you're the sort of man I'd be _proud _to call my son, and I hope that one day you will be_…"

She had been the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had, and Harry would always appreciate that fact.

Harry passed another photo-frame showing just himself, Ginny, Hermione and Ron by the river banks at the Burrow. The four of them had remained as close as ever, although it had become quite difficult for Ron lately as Hermione had decided to return to Hogwarts in September, meaning that he barely saw her outside of the holidays (although she had negotiated the current two weeks off for a work experience placement into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement).

Ron had joined the Aurors with Harry under Denzel's enrolment scheme after the Battle, the pair of them heavily involved in the restoration process. However, like Ginny, Ron expected it to be a little more…stimulating. He hadn't taken well to the bureaucratic overhaul. Still, it would hopefully be over by the end of the day…

"Kreacher?" asked Harry out loud as he reached the bottom of the stairs. In an instant, the house-elf popped out of thin air in front of him, and bowed graciously.

"Master Harry. Anything you be wanting for breakfast today?"

"Uhhh, just some toast, thanks Kreacher..."

"Kreacher could make some coffee too?"

"Oh yeah, that too please…"

"Of course, master. The Daily Prophet arrived just moments ago, it is on the drawing room table. It has something on that nice Mr Ruddleford who came for dinner last week, I remember…"

"Oh, really? Thanks again, Kreacher…"

The elf bobbed off to the kitchen, and Harry settled down on one of the grazed button-backed chairs in the nearby drawing room, gazing with interest at that day's headline, emblazoned in black letters across the front page, about James Ruddleford and his newest medical discovery (a basic cure for Spattergroit, apparently).

James Ruddleford was an emerging friend of Harry's, an intelligent and assiduous Healer at St. Mungo's. He had been part-assigned to be the Auror-dedicated medic (with his other responsibilities 'confidential', according to his dossier), so Harry had close and frequent contact with him. His youthful appearance (he was barely a few years older than Harry) was nothing more than a ruse for the wisdom and aptitude that laid beneath.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't think so highly of the Healer. When Harry had introduced him to Hermione and Ginny at the Ministry Christmas Ball, Ron, at the end of the night, accused James of flirting. Harry thought James was merely being courteous with Hermione, but Ron had seemingly felt a little insecure from Hermione's departure to Hogwarts. However, James, as magically skilled as he was medically intelligent, was not someone to antagonise. One thing led to another and Ron ended up unceremoniously dangling from the ballroom chandelier.

Harry briskly turned the page and found his attention again swiftly seized by a different article, adorned with the headline:

**IS GYRO OUT OF TOUCH? – EXCESSIVE BUREAUCRACY IN THE AUROR OFFICE ; OPINION BY RITA SKEETER**

Intrigued, and slightly concerned by the infamous journalist, he read on:

_Under the early reformist policies implemented last May to get wizarding Britain back on its feet (the Hogsmeade Protocols) , Denzel Gyro was appointed to reinvigorate and reshuffle a shattered Auror Office after the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. Ten months on from that historic event, how much has Gyro actually managed to achieve in his line of duty? Well, would delegating paperwork responsibilities and other mundane jobs to Harry Potter, Crixsom Benign, of all people, be considered a success in any way, shape or form?_

_That's right, the boy who ended the war and killed the darkest wizard in history is stuck behind a desk all day shuffling paper between the Auror office and neighbouring departments, this reporter can reveal. Is that the treatment that brave hero Harry Potter deserves? Me, myself and I certainly think not. _

_Nevertheless, Gyro has brazenly defended his management style, commenting that Potter and his fellow recruits are the youngest Aurors in Ministry history, all between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, and that he can't give them large responsibilities just yet, regardless of experience ya da ya da. Furthermore, he states, the Hogsmeade Protocols called for an "all hands on deck" treatment of human resources, however it is not be noted that these protocols officially expired at Christmas. _

_If you ask me, Gyro is just jealous of Potter's track record. Gyro, according to my proficient research, was never able to capture a dark wizard in his time as a Field Auror and was completely oblivious to the fact that three of his colleagues were undercover Death Eaters in the first war, and that a further two were under the Imperious Curse. And this is the man we expect to lead our primary defence organisation?_

_Still, despite this abhorrent treatment of a hero, it seems that not even the bureaucratic black hole that is the new Ministry can deny Potter his true purpose any longer. He is likely to secure the promotion to full Aurorship very soon now, but I wouldn't be surprised if Potter is promoted to be Gyro's personal coffee maker instead. After all, he's proven himself as being apt at grinding dark wizards, so, in Gyro's eyes, that means he can grind some fresh Colombian for board meetings. _

Humph. Skeeter seemed extra keen to brown-nose, even if she was labouring under the delusion that he was hating his current position in the Ministry. She must still be angling for that biography she craved to write, he thought viciously. Well she could try all the hell she wanted, she of all people wouldn't get that opportunity.

"Toast and coffee, master Harry…" said Kreacher, clambering into the drawing room with a platter and mug balanced carefully over his head, placing them elegantly on the table.

"Thanks, again, Kreacher."

"Is there anything you might also be wanting?"

"Um…I guess there's one thing. Can you give a wake-up call to Ginny if she's not up by eleven? She'll end up missing practice…" he said. She had developed a tendency to sleep in excessively.

"Of course master. Do you want me to get the hose like last time?"

"Kreacher! I was only _joking_ last time! You didn't have to _actually_ do it! She was furious for a week!"

"Ah, sir, you have to be careful about things like that. There's a fine line between a joke and an actual command for house elves, there is…"

"I'll remember that…just, wake her up in a way that doesn't involve water, or anything unpleasant!"

"Kreacher shall do as master asks, but Kreacher will always have the hose ready…just in case…" said the elf, and then, after a with a brief bow, he mischievously slid out of the room.

"A _hose_. Of all things, it had to be a _hose_…" Harry mumbled under his breath.

Harry ate in silence, distantly remembering the look on Ginny's face when he had come home early that day…it was a look no mortal man could face.

Harry was distracted from that particularly vivid memory when the sound of a crackling fire burst abruptly through the room, and, with a green flash, Ron suddenly appeared in front of the fire place, dressed particularly neatly in his own basic uniform.

"Knock, why don't you?" said Harry.

"Do Aurors need to knock? We're more 'barge down the door and make an entrance', don't you think?" he quipped, grinning with the aura of a celebrity as he emerged from the grate.

"We're not technically Aurors just yet, you know…"

"Not for much longer though. Today's the big day!" he said, with feverish excitement. "The full uniform, our own office, letters after our names, and the fully authorised right to kick _arse_!"

"Well, I don't think Denzel's gonna put us _that _quickly into the action. He'll probably just put us into the advanced training class. By the way, did you see Skeeter's article on him this morning?"

"Oh yeah, I did. Bloody hell, she's trying to suck up to you, isn't she? She must be desperatefor that biography contract…"

"Yeah, she won't stop asking me. It's getting a little pathetic, but she's totally broke…"

"She'll find a way to come back. She always does…"

"Yeah, I guess…" said Harry pensively, "Do you want anything before we leave?"

"Nah, Hermione provided a slap-up breakfast for me, just for the occasion. She's taking this far more seriously than she needs to. I take it the princess is still in bed?"

"Yeah, now that the Championship's over, she's got plenty of time to relax…"

"Typical. Well, I say we give her a surprise wake-up call. Has Kreacher still got that hose?"

"Will people stop trying to hose her?!"

"That's your job, isn't it?" he said slyly.

"Was that an attempt at being funny?"

"Yeah. And it worked."

"Yeah, _hilarious _Ronald…" came a wry voice from the stairs. Ginny, in a dressing gown and looking thoroughly irate at her older brother, marched down the stairs in a typically Weasley fashion.

"Hey, Gin. Harry said you were…asleep…" said Ron sheepishly.

"Well, it's hard to sleep when two morons are babbling downstairs!"

"Am I a sexy moron?" Harry asked, smirking, wrapping his arms around her shoulders; Ron rolled his eyes and pointedly looked away.

"_When you get that uniform_, yes, you will be…" she said, conceding a grin.

"Trust you, Gin…" teased Ron.

"What? That uniform was designed with women in mind, I can tell you that…"

The boys chuckled.

"Well, it's quarter to eight, we better get a move on." said Ron. "Where's the nearest apparition point to yours?"

"You guys aren't using the Floo Network?" pondered Ginny.

"We can't. The Floo Network has been shut down within the Ministry for the morning. I've got no clue what could constitute that…" said Ron seriously. "Hermione's been considering it too, but she couldn't fathom it. Whatever caused the downtime is what we're gonna be dealing with, apparently. We're gonna be dealing with some real classified stuff…"

"When did you find that out?" asked Harry, highly surprised. He hadn't received any information on the final tasks they would have to do. Normally, they wouldn't even say what they were until five minutes before you were due to start them.

"Memo came this morning. Didn't you receive it?"

"No, but messages sometimes struggle to get into this house. Most owls end up in the park across the street, and we have to go there to collect mail…"

"I guess unplottability has its downside. So where is the nearest apparition point to yours?"

"Just at the end of Grimmauld Place, it's a minute walk…"

"Great. Best get going then…"

"Well, have a fun day, you two, whatever your doing…" said Ginny finally, giving Harry a firm kiss as the boys opened the door, bright morning light spilling into the much darker home. As soon as they had done so, an owl soared through the open doorway and flew haphazardly into the drawing room.

"That'd be the memo then…" said Harry.

"No need to get it. I've already told you everything it said…"

"Fair enough, let's go…"

The pair walked out into the bitterly cold February morning, watching impassively as 12 Grimmauld Place melted back into the frosty brickwork of the other houses.

They had no idea how chaotic their day would be.


	3. The Markets of Mercatus Minor

**Chapter 3: The Markets of Mercatus Minor**

The impossible girl. A soufflé with an unknown recipe. A mystery wrapped in an enigma that seemed to continuously tease him, even more than she did herself.

The Doctor was always glad to have somehow travel with him. Sharing the universe was what made it special, that he had always known and appreciated. But Clara was…different, aside from the fact that she had unfathomably died twice in two apparently different lives. She was understanding, kind, clever, funny, and just a little bit cheeky. He enjoyed her company, but not as much as he would if the constant mystery that surrounded her didn't continuously plague his mind.

He was used to knowing everything; it was an ability, and, to some extent, shortcoming, of the Time Lords, but ever since he had regenerated into his eleventh incarnation, he had find himself immersed into a new life full of mystery, secrecy, and – above all else - _Silence_. The mystery of the Pandorica, the mystery of River, the looming mystery of Trenzalore, and now the mystery of Clara Oswald. A small part of him felt as if it was all connected somehow. He didn't feel like dwelling on that idea too much.

"You coming then?" called Clara, standing by the exit of the TARDIS.

"Yes, yes, coming…" said the Doctor hurriedly.

"You alright?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Of course, I'm the Doctor, I'm always alright, I'm the king of alright. Anyway, Mercatus Minor awaits…"

The Doctor lead the way out of the TARDIS and out into the warm environment beyond, Clara by his side, whose eyes widened in astonishment at what she saw.

The Doctor, with a smile that always enveloped his face when he witnessed his companions' reactions to new worlds, watched Clara as she first saw the astonishing sight of the tens of thousands of market stands, which stretched far into the horizon, in a way that far eclipsed the Akhaten bazaars. Thousands of creatures of various sizes and forms streamed the narrow, sandy streets, carrying an enormous variety of odd looking objects and contraptions, bustling between stalls to exchange something they were carrying for something they wanted. Nothing looked permanent, except for tall tree-like structures in the distance which stood tall over the markets below.

And then there was the sky! Half the sky was filled by an immense blue gas giant with golden rings, the planet of Romma. The other moons of Romma specked the sky like blobs of paint in a wide variety of colours, and a bright orange star shone directly above their heads.

The Doctor himself felt a thrill in being here, as he had only ever visited Mercatus Minor once, a very long time ago when he was only two hundred years old, and the scenery had changed considerably since his last visit. He should really have expected this from a world where nothing seemed permanent, and everything seemed constantly on the move.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, ultimately.

"This is…incredible…" she whispered, breathlessly, "This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen yet…"

The Doctor smiled. "It is a beautiful world, indeed, and the markets stretch on for thousands of miles, even up a few mountains and down into a few oceans…"

"What are those tree like things in the distance?"

"Homes of the rich, I'd imagine. The successful barterers will exchange objects of higher and higher value for years on end. They can start with a toothpick and end up with a mansion…"

"So what do they _sell_ here, exactly?"

"Everything! Everything that was or ever will be should end up here at some point. Look, toasters over there, costing six Plumbleberries and a guitar each, caustic manipulators around the corner there, costing sixteen megashlims of Bazoolium and an exotic dance a pop. And over there, _The Dark Side of the Moon_, an entire Class 3A spaceship needed for that, apparently. Well, it is a classic…"

"Didn't consider you the Pink Floyd fan, to be honest…"

"Well, I did help make it…"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. They only decided to call it 'Dark Side of the Moon' when I took them there. They still owe me for that trip…"

"Wait what – "

"Ah, look over there, Logopolian calculators! Can solve any mathematical problem. Might be good for Artie, you know…"

The pair walked daintily through the streets, the Doctor continually picking out the odd random object from the stalls, whilst overenthusiastic sellers brandished item after item at the relatively affluent looking Clara.

"Are you sure the TARDIS won't be flogged off?" asked Clara, politely throwing off the latest zealous trader, who looked like he was offering purple cloves of garlic.

"It materialised in quite a secluded spot, given the nature of this world. Besides, it won't have any intrinsic value to anyone here…" said the Doctor.

"If you say so. Hey, what are these?" she asked, gesturing at a batch of blue crystals on a particularly impressive looking stall.

"Crystals, or gems, of some sort…" he said, not paying too much attention.

"Pretty girl, come and see my many varieties of sapphires, they look most good on you, very much, very much…" said the tender.

"Gimme a minute…" she said, smirking, "Love me some sparkle…", and she went over to investigate the jewellery.

The Doctor moved out of the way of the bustling crowd, ending up adjacent to what looked like the largest stall he had seen so far, so large in fact it was probably more a shop. It was draped and shielded by a thick blue velvet canopy with fancy golden streaks running down from the top – very distinct from the shabby wooden stalls either side of it. The sign at the front, embellished too in gold, read '_Secrets of the Universe_'.

Well that sounded a little too good to be true.

Feeling curious, and with a passing cautionary glance at Clara (who was busy trying on various forms of blue rings and brooches), he entered the canopy.

The inside smelled musky, but it was surprisingly bright. Shelves upon shelves of old thick books, dusty orb-like devices and worn metallic trunks took up most of the interior space. Nothing appeared to fit under the canopy of what the Doctor would call 'secrets'; it just looked like some dusty living room.

"Ah, bowtied sir, how may I help you?" asked a weary voice from the other side of the shop. A very old woman, clearly the shopkeeper, dressed in colourful rags and covered in deep blue jewellery from head to toe, shuffled into view. The smile under her long nose was welcoming, if not slightly fanatical.

"Oh, I was just being a nosy parker, don't mind me. '_Secrets of the Universe_' and all, pretty hard to resist…"

Her smile fell slightly.

"So, what sort of 'secrets' have you got here?" asked the Doctor, entertaining the notion.

"Many, many secrets, but you have to _know_ what you want for me to relinquish it…"

"I take it a lot of people know what they want then…" said the Doctor. "Judging by the quality of the drapery, and your…rather decorated apparel…"

She bowed in modesty.

"I am Madame Elyrium. I am very popular trader. Many people come to me. Atraxi, Weevils, Draconians and Zygon's, just some of the customers I've had this week alone…" she uttered proudly. "I have many secrets, they all come to me…" she repeated.

"And they're satisfied every time? They got what they came for?" asked the Doctor inquisitively.

"Every time…"

The Doctor was now very curious indeed. If she was supplying information to these powerful, information-hungry species, then the information had to be correct, or they would have returned for her head as well as their barter. But being able to find the _exact_ information for each trivial desire would require an enormous repository, much bigger than a velvet draped canopy on some distant moon. You would need a library the size of a planet for that, and although one of those actually existed, even it would be missing records.

The Doctor then had an curious thought.

"Every time?" he repeated.

"Yes, every time…" said Madame Elyrium, with an air of impatience.

"So, no one in your commercial history has ever popped in and asked – oh I, don't know - what is the real name of the Time Lord known as the Doctor?" he asked, smirking slightly.

Her face fell, just as he had predicted.

"How could you know that?" she demanded.

"It's a common question, believe you me. The oldest question in the universe, some might say. So not _everyone_ is satisfied then?"

She huffed up, looking part indignant and part enquiring.

"A few are curious, but I have no record of a man who plainly never existed! He exists on no database, no records, no anything. Those who ask, a small minority, mind you, demand his 'real' name for some unknown reason, but I have only one book on Time Lords. Very little of them is known, and nothing about this so called Doctor…"

"You have a book on the Time Lords?" asked the Doctor, surprised.

"Yes, I am very lucky to possess it, it is often enquired upon…"

"Show me…" he demanded.

"Follow…" she said, and he did so, following her down a thin crevice of books that were stacked up to the ceiling.

"It was written by a man with a good knowledge of Gallifrey…" Elyrium whispered, carefully extracting a small, thin book out from one of the stacks, and passing it into the Doctor's hands.

The Doctor gazed down at the cover, embellished with the words '_The Book of Gallifreyan Culture_'and accompanied by a distorted image of Gallifrey. It seemed nothing special, until he read the name of the author, printed in Old High Gallifreyan at the very bottom of the cover, and breathed sharply in poignancy; those small little Gallifreyan runics, spelt the name of –

"Romanadvoratrelundar…" he whispered; the word caught on his breath, "Romana…"

"You can translate Gallifreyan?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of course, I _am _the Doctor, I am a Time Lord, and so I understand Gallifreyan…" he said harshly, distracted by the epitome in his hands, "And the author's no man…well, then again, she might be, who knows what she could have regenerated into now…"

"_You're the Doctor?_" she asked, astonished. "But you can't exist, it is impossible!"

"Me, impossible? You should see my friend…" he said, distantly.

"Goodness…excuse me for a moment..." she said, clutching her heart, and shuffled off into the back room.

The Doctor turned his attention back to Romana's book.

"Oh, Romana. You always wanted to spread the tales of Gallifrey to the universe…" he whispered, teary-eyed with admiration. "It's probably why you lost the presidency…"

He opened the cover, and read the foreword, which roughly translated as such:

_**OFFICIAL MANUSCRIPT FOR PUBLISHING**_

_Dear inquisitor of the wide universe,_

_The culture of Gallifrey, home of the Time Lords, is amongst the most vibrant and historical in the known universe, and tales of our long civilisation have passed from generation to generation, loom to loom, but have never escaped to the wider universe. I have written this book alongside by fellow cultural historians Clad Solarwa and Rium Tellis in order to both entertain and inform anyone of interest in the universe of the tales of Gallifrey, which should remain under lock and key no longer. _

_Official manuscript_; it was the only copy ever produced, the Doctor realised sadly. Rassilon would have stopped it from being published. Romana was always so keen for the Time Lords to drop their air of superiority and distance over the rest of creation, and join the rest of the universe socially and culturally, but Rassilon would have been firm on the matter. How the book escaped the end of the Time War, the Doctor had no clue, but it was a treasure, a sentimental artefact of his people, and it was a wonderful discovery.

He turned the page; there was a short introduction:

_Gallifrey has many tales. The tales of the Tricksters, the Shakri, and the Weeping Angels, among many others. Some are pure fabrication, designed to frighten young Gallifreyan children, like the Toclafane, others are based in truth with details exaggerated, like the Extonic Beats and the ancient Pythia seers with their fertility curse. However, the rest, sometimes disturbingly, are utterly real, like the Weeping Angels, the Hand of Omega, and the Hasrion Pendant. This book will examine all three areas. _

_Hasrion Pendant_. He hadn't heard that name, or its story, in an incredibly long time, not since his time in the Gallifrey nurseries. He could barely remember the details, but, for some reason, the fact that Romana had labelled it as being 'fully real' was somewhat interesting to him. He couldn't explain why, it was his subconscious talking, but it still niggled. If only he could remember more, but it was so long ago…

"Oh, I figured you'd be in here…" said Clara, emerging from the entrance. Something bright and blue was sparkling from her left hand. "_Secrets of the Universe_, that is very you…"

"What is that thing on your hand?" he asked, astounded, retiring the Hasrion Pendant to the back of his mind.

"Vespucci sapphire, apparently, very nice, don't you think?" she said, holding up the large blue crystal to the Doctor's examining eyes. It was a golden ring with a fair sized Vespucci sapphire perched rather elegantly on top.

"_Vespucci_? That stuff can cause enormously strong weather fluctuations if its charged right, it's highly valuable! How on Earth did you afford that? You weren't carrying anything of value!"

"Turns out he is a massive fan of the Queen: Elizabeth, not the band. No idea how he actually knows who she is, mind you, but he happily accepted the spare coppers in my pocket, what with her face all stamped over them…"

"Well, that's no surprise, the Royal Family came from a planet near this system…"

"What did – no, I heard nothing, absolutely nothing…" she said, shaking her head.

The Doctor snickered.

"So, what you got there then?" she asked, gesturing at Romana's book.

"Oh, just something the shopkeeper found for me, a book made by the Time Lords themselves…"

"_The Book of Gallifreyan Culture_…" she whispered, "Wow, your people?"

"Indeed. Made by…an old friend of mine…" he said pensively.

"And your friend wrote it English?" she asked confusedly, regarding the title.

"Well, no, she wrote it in every language. The book has the same mechanisms that the TARDIS has, which allows readers to translate the contents of this book into their own natural or preferred dialect, well except for the author's name, which is written in Gallifreyan, which doesn't translate…"

"Yeah, still getting used to the whole translation thing…" she confessed.

"The book was designed to educate the universe, but never authorised, other than this manuscript…"

"Why not?"

"Time Lord politics…"

"Ugh, can't be any worse than the Tories…"

The Doctor smirked.

"How did it end up here then?" she asked.

"Everything turns up on this planet eventually, it's the biggest barter exchange market in the universe. Even something like this, an unique artefact of Time Lord society, would appear sooner or later…"

"So what led to you asking about Time Lords in the first place? I know it's not casual conversation with you…"

"Well, you know earlier you asked about the whole '_doctor who_?' thing? Well, you're not the only curious one. I simply asked how many people have inquired; a lot apparently…"

"You really don't want people finding out your name, do you? Why?" she asked, arms folded.

"It's complicated…"

"And very, very valuable!" said a sudden shriek voice.

Madame Elyrium had re-emerged from the back room, edging closer and closer to the pair and carrying a plasma blaster in her right hand, a mad smile stamped across her lips.

"Your real name, Doctor, would be worth millions of gems given the current level of demand. From your name alone, I could retire from the markets and buy myself my own tree in the Commerce district. So many people want to know Doctor, give it to me now, or I promise you that I will shoot both of you!"

"Now, please, calm down, it's not something I can just give out, unlike hugs, hugs are easy to give out, I can give you one now if you want?"

"Doctor_ who_?" she asked, charging the blaster.

"You can't get away with this, there are thousands of shoppers out there who'll hear it!" shouted Clara defiantly.

"Soundproof fabric; do you really think a shop of secrets isn't gonna be protected from snoopers, stupid girl!"

"Right, right, fair play. I'll give you my name, don't worry your mad, mad, really mad head…"

Clara looked at him sharply.

"And it is?" demanded Madame Elyrium, hysterically. "Tell me this instant!"

"John Smith…" he muttered. She snarled.

"Is that the best you could come up with..." whispered Clara sharply.

"Well it usually works!"

"Don't play games with me, Time Lord. One more chance, or I'll shoot the girl…" spat Elyrium, pointing her blaster at Clara.

"Ok, ok…" he said, and looked at Clara, who looked back at him helplessly, the Vespucci ring glimmering on her finger…and then a sudden idea glimmered into the Doctor's mind, a brilliant, mad idea, the best kind of idea. He looked at the shopkeeper, and a small grin enveloped his face, a grin of upcoming brilliance.

He winked at Clara, and whispered "Gimme that ring…"

She did so, albeit with a look of total confusion.

"You know what this is?" he asked, holding out the ring.

"You can't bargain with me Doctor!"

"But do you know what it is?"

"A sapphire, now tell me-"

"A _Vespucci _sapphire. From your competitor next door. Now, I am about to be really, really clever, so make sure you listen very carefully, not many people get to hear something like this. Consider it an honour…"

She blinked in confusion.

"Now, Madame Elyrium; you deal in secrets, very valuable secrets, and although you lack the _biggest_ secret there probably is, you still take a very large amount of revenue, and you clearly have an obsession with gems – and so you demand gems as the barter for your services, although you clearly lack any knowledge about the gems themselves; you probably just like the sparkly-sparkle, shiney-shine. Sorry if I'm generalising, but you don't know what a Vespucci sapphire is nor their exact hypermeteorological nature, and you're currently decorated in them, head to toe, which is pretty foolish really.

"Now, you probably exchanged the generic crystals you got from your clients for the much shinier crystals from the nice man next door, which makes sense as Vespucci sapphires are known for their unique gleam, but they are known for something more, you know, and you clearly have no idea about it. It's not your fault, the seller next door either has no idea about the true nature of what the hell he's selling, or is just looking for a laugh. Either way, Vespucci sapphires are all weakly interconnected and very good at creating weather patterns, especially – " he said, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and pointing it at Clara's Vespucci ring, "_Very_ strong wind systems…"

"What are you – " she started, but then all the gems laced upon her garments glowed an ominous blue and, a mere femtosecond later and accompanied by a terrified scream, a colossal blast of sudden wind coming seemingly from nowhere whisked the shopkeeper up into the roof of the shop, the force of which broke through the velvet drapery and sent her flying into the red Mercatian sky.

"DOCTOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" she screamed maniacally, soaring away like a rocket.

"Well, she clearly got _blown away _by that, didn't she?" quipped the Doctor.

"Stop trying to be funny, you're worse than my Dad…" muttered Clara, "She will, um… be ok, right?"

The pair briefly watched the odd sight of the shopkeeper being blown randomly across the sky on random wind patterns, screaming all the way.

"Yeah, she'll be fine…ultimately. The crystals will wane with time and she'll slowly start to lose height. She'll be stuck up there for a while, though, with all those crystals she was wearing…"

"I think we should probably make a quick exit…" said Clara, taking the ring back.

"Yeah, very good idea actually, especially seeing as it is a Class Three Capital offence in this quadrant to activate a Vespucci crystal within a busy public area…"

"But a guy was selling them on the street!"

"Well, like I said, either he's an idiot or doesn't know a thing about their true nature. Now, let's go!"

The pair raced out of the tent and into a crowd of curious consumers, all staring at the flying women in the sky.

"They used a Vespucci crystal! Someone arrest them! Hey, _what do you think you're doing selling them_!" called someone from the crowd.

"Um, run!" shouted the Doctor.

"Why must it always comes down to running?" said Clara, rolling her eyes.

"You get used to it, believe me!"

They set off at a vigorous pace through the narrow streets, being chased by a small group of raggedy shoppers, accidentally knocking over several bystanders as they did so. As they turned a corner, they found their path suddenly blocked by a small group of men draped in black balaclavas and thick red robes, blasters drawn and charging.

"Who are they?" asked Clara.

"Um…Mercatian police, at a guess…"

"Halt in the name of Grand Mercatia!" they proclaimed.

"Oh sometimes I hate being right all the time…" moaned the Doctor, pulling Clara into an adjacent avenue, "This way!"

"Well they sure got here on the double!" exclaimed Clara, dodging out of the way of what looked like an old Ford Escort.

"Well the sight of someone flying in the air like that is a tad obvious!"

The police were then joined by the earlier shoppers, forming nothing less than a wild stampede of crazed barterers and zealous officers.

"The people here are a tad enthusiastic in law enforcement, don't you think?" breathed Clara as they turned corner yet again. "This is practically vigilantism!"

"Citizens who turn in criminals are rewarded with their weight in gold – literally!"

They ran past several familiar looking stalls and then, in a microinstant, in the very corner of her eye, she recognised a very distinctive sight that led her to abruptly yank the Doctor in a perpendicular direction, shouting -

"OVER THERE YOU MUPPET! THERE'S _DARK SIDE OF THE MOON_!"

"Good spot Clara! Consider us even Syd!"

The TARDIS came into view as they reached the vendor selling _Dark Side of the Moon_. The Doctor fumbled with the key in his hand, but, with a final tug on Clara's hand, they shot into the TARDIS and slammed the door shut on the stampede that had been an instant behind them.

"Get us out of here chin boy!" urged Clara as the crowd banged on the door.

_Rescue me, chin boy, and show me the stars._ The Doctor was momentarily transfixed by this memory, which had turned into this incredible mystery. He stared at the impossible girl in front of him, stunned by the distinction of her unfeasibility. _She was not possible_.

"Doctor!"

"Oh yes…" muttered the Doctor, shaking himself out of his reverie. He pulled the central lever on the console, and plotted in the space coordinates for Earth. With the archaic _vworping _sound, the TARDIS lurched into life, and the noise of the markets and the overzealous vigilantes of Mercatus Minor was swiftly extinguished.

"What was that all about, then?" she demanded. "You keep giving me those long mysterious looks, and they're happening at more and more inconvenient times…"

"I was just checking the door was shut before we left…"

"You were looking at _me_, not the door…"

"No I wasn't…" he said quickly, pretending to be occupied with the TARDIS monitor.

She sighed, and dropped her resolve.

"What now then?" she asked simply.

"Well, home, for you. You've got kids to tutor…"

"Home, already?" she said, confused. "But we've only been to one place…"

"Yes, sorry, but I want to read Romana's book, and that'll take a while. There was a passage of interest in it…" he stated. "I don't know why it interest me, but it rings a bell somewhere in this old head of mine..."

The vworping stopped, and the TARDIS went quiet.

"I'll be back before you can say 'I want to be chased through an alien market again'…"

"Just don't land on the roof, or in a trampoline for that matter, next time…"

"I'll try my hardest…" he said, smirking.

"See you around, Doctor…"

"See you around, Clara…"

With a wink and a smile, she exited the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor in the near silence of the console room.

His smirk slid from his face as that deep, maddening question erupted into his mind, a question he frustratingly had no answer to – _who the hell was she? _She confounded him everywhere he went. He needed some form of resolution.

But then, with a realisation akin to a epiphany and a sparse recollection stretching back all the way to his time in the Gallifreyan nurseries, he was flooded with a sudden feeling of implausible anticipation.

He had (finally) remembered an ancient tale, a tale told to him of a certain artefact, a model of which had hung over his cot. He was amazed he could remember that far back. But he was more amazed by something else, something much more recent, words of an old friend, etched into an astonishing discovery:

_However, the rest, sometimes disturbingly, are utterly real, like the Weeping Angels, the Hand of Omega, and _…_ the Hasrion Pendant_.

He stared at Romana's book, placed delicately on the TARDIS console.

He remembered what the tale of Hasrion Pendant had been, and the answer to the question that had been plaguing him for months seemed closer than it had ever been before.


	4. Out of the Blue

**Chapter 4: Out of the Blue**

"So Floo lockdown?" asked Harry, setting off down the street with Ron by his side. "This is big…"

"We've gotten some luck, don't you think?" asked Ron, smirking. "Something interesting for once..."

"Depends on exactly what we're dealing with here…"

"Could it have been a rogue attack by that Death Eater splinter cell, Walpurgis or whatever they're called?" Ron asked thoughtfully.

"I don't think so. The security is so crazily tight nowadays, they would never be able to get past it. The Floo network would have been prohibited a long time ago if it wasn't for improved precautions..."

"I guess so…"

Only Aurors were able to apparate directly into the Ministry in the current climate; other commuters had to Floo directly into a kind of 'terminal' room beside the Atrium, where everyone was scanned amidst an assortment of about twenty Aurors. People didn't like it at all, but it was an apparent necessity. Aside from Aurors, the whole Ministry had been 'apparition-locked'.

The pair reached the end of Grimmauld Place and turned into a narrow side alley.

"This is far enough…" said Harry after a few seconds.

With a loud crack and that ever uncomfortable sensation of tight, compressive darkness, Harry felt himself apparate into a fleeting emptiness before he found himself standing under the dim, black tiles of the Ministry of Magic Atrium.

"Woah…" exclaimed Ron. Harry turned to see what he was looking at, and had to double take at the odd sight that met his eyes.

The very centre of the Atrium had been closed off using tall railings fashioned into a large circle, the railings adorned with hundreds of "Aurors only" signs coupled with security tape. Several personnel, wearing the distinctive Auror uniform, were dotted inside the circumference of the cordoned-off circle, surrounding a tall, white forensic-like tent at its very heart.

"Potter! Weasley! Get over here!" called a voice that Harry recognised instantly as Denzel Gyro, who was standing at a small 'gate' on the circumference. The pair quickly beckoned to his order.

"Denzel, what the hell is all this?" asked Harry as they reached the gate.

"A case seventeen…" said Denzel swiftly, pulling them both into the circle.

"_Seventeen_?" exclaimed Ron incredulously. "What is it? How did it get in here?"

"I'll tell you what I know in a minute. Stay here..." he said tersely, and swiftly disappeared into the white tent.

"Well I didn't expect _this_ on our promotion day…" said Harry.

"I know right…" said a voice behind them. Harry turned to see Jonah Reeds, a lean and long-haired friend and fellow Auror who was due for promotion on that day just like Harry and Ron.

Jonah was from Philadelphia in the United States; he had emigrated to the United Kingdom after the Battle of Hogwarts to join the new Auror Office, which had been starved of new recruits and openly accepted candidates from the American Faculty of Magical Law Administration. Witty and brave, but sometimes overconfident, he had become a close colleague and friend of Harry and Ron, although he frequently got on James' nerves; they were, Harry considered, polar opposites.

"Hey, Jonah. You seen what's in that tent yet?" asked Ron.

"No idea, man. Denzel was waiting on you two to arrive. Wanted the dream team together, I suppose…" he said, smirking.

"You know it man..." said Ron.

Denzel remerged from the tent and made a beeline straight for them.

"Right. Potter, Weasley, Reeds…" said Denzel brusquely, enjoining the junior Aurors into a tight huddle, "As I've said this is a case seventeen event – an unknown and potentially hazardous object has inexplicably entered the Ministry. It happened at around two o'clock this morning. The Atrium was empty at the time, so there were no direct witnesses-"

"I thought the Ministry had night guards?"

"It does. But they were off patrol at the time, and came back a few moments later to see that this...this _thing_ had come out of nowhere...".

"What, it just appeared out of thin air?" asked Jonah, surprised.

"Apparently. Aurors arrived on the scene at two-thirty this morning after its sudden appearance was reported by the night guards. We deemed it best to shut down the Floo network to enhance our security position, in case it was related to Walpurgis, which we're pretty sure it isn't. They could never master the magic needed to get this thing so easily through the barricades …"

"Is it safe then, whatever it is?" asked Ron.

"We've had Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries trying to find out the answer to that question all morning..."

"And?" asked Harry.

"Well, just a moment ago they concluded that it is, to the best of their examination, safe. It certainly doesn't strike me as something particularly threatening, but you can never be too careful with things like these. Still, it must be moved out of the Atrium as soon as possible. We're shutting off the Atrium to all commuters in five minutes, and you three must move this thing to the Department of Mysteries. That will be the extent of your final tasks. Afterwards, I'll be more than happy to officially certify you three."

"Wait, wait, so all we've got to do is move this thing? Is that it?"

"Well, if you're feeling unfulfilled you can all do more paperwork afterwards, that'll be fine by me – "

"No, no…" they all said together. Denzel elicited a small smirk.

"Well good. Come and take a look at this thing, then..."

Denzel filtered the three of them carefully through the entrance of the white tent, and they laid their curious eyes on the mysterious object that had bemused the Auror Department and the Department of Mysteries all morning. Their mouths collectively dropped at what they saw.

A blue box. A blue box with the words "police box" written near the top. A blue box with a door. A blue box with a lock on said door. There was a fricking _blue box _sitting in the heart of the Atrium.

"Um...what?" said Ron, utterly perplexed. "What even is this?"

"To be perfectly honest...we have _no _idea..." admitted Denzel.

"Well it says "police box"..." commented Jonah, "Isn't that what Muggle law enforcement is called?"

"Yeah, it is..." confirmed Harry.

"Are you suggesting this is a Muggle object?" asked Denzel.

"Well, no, but Muggle objects can be bewitched, happens all the time..."

"But why a big blue box? Who would bewitch something like this into the Ministry?"

"Who _could _bewitch something like this into the Ministry? The Defence Office put like ten thousand anti-apparition and impregnability charms on the whole Ministry, didn't they?"

"What about Walpurgis?"

"Seems a bit random if it was. If they had the magic to break into the Ministry, they would not waste one second in launching an immediate assault..."

"They're smarter than we give them credit for, Denzel..."

"They're cold-blooded, combat-happy supremacists looking for revenge for the death of Voldemort, nothing more technical than that. They wouldn't wait. They barely plan, judging by their losses..."

"Well then, if it's not Walpurgis, how did this thing get here?"

"It doesn't matter for the minute. I just need it out of here. The Unspeakables can pick it apart from there..."

"Sir, the Atrium's been fully sealed for the next ten minutes. Had a few journalists try and get close to the tent though, including that Skeeter cow..." said Denzel's aid, Carrington, poking his head through the entrance.

"Oh great..." murmured Harry under his breath.

"I'll be more than happy to take care of her, sir..." said Ron. Harry smirked.

"She's already been restrained. Put in the confinements cells, in fact..." said Carrington, with a smirk. "She won't like that one bit.."

"Good..." said Denzel, "I wouldn't want her prying eyes on this thing, that's for sure. Now, you three, get this done in ten minutes, and report back here when you're done..."

"Yes sir..." they said in unison. Denzel swiftly left, Carrington following close in his wake.

"I think _Wingardium Leviosa _would be best for this. Think you can manage that Ron?" quipped Harry.

"Hey, I was the one who knocked that troll out using that spell, remember that..."

"A troll? When was this?" asked Jonah interestedly.

"First year..." said Harry, "Quite the eventful year. Then again, every year at Hogwarts was bloody eventful..."

"Man, I wish I went to Hogwarts. The wizarding education in America really tanks..." said Jonah dismissively.

"We can tell..." joked Ron.

"Haha, very funny Weasley..."

"Anyway, gentleman, focus..." said Harry firmly, "Right, on the count of three. One, two, three..._Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The three wizards chimed in unison, and the mysterious blue box rose a few feet off the ground.

"Harry, you lead..."

Harry and the others carefully controlled the movement of the box as they left the tent; it was heavier than it looked, judging by the subtle but noticeable force being applied to his wand. The fence had been opened up in front of them, allowing them access to the nearest elevator.

"Will it fit in those lifts?" asked Ron incredulously.

"They can grow..." said Harry simply.

Indeed, as the Aurors approached the elevator, blue box in tow, the top of the elevator's metal frame expanded abruptly, allowing the three of them to position the blue box inside without incident.

"Right, Department of Mysteries..." said Harry, pushing the correct button out of the many on the console. The elevator lurched into screeching motion.

"Hey, look! This thing has a telethingy on it!" pointed out Ron. He had opened a sort of cabinet on one side of the blue box.

"_Telephone_, Ron, not telethingy. Hasn't Hermione taught you anything?" said Harry, smirking.

"Hey, I was close. Wonder what it's doing on a box..."

He picked up the receiver.

"Put that back, Ron, you have no idea-"

"_We've made it. The Planet of the White Witches, Crixsos Delta Three. This is almost surreal_..."

The words blared out of the receiver, a clear man's voice, before silence.

"The _hell_..." said Jonah, "Put that thing back on Ron!"

He did so. "What was that all about?"

"Dunno, just keep away from that receiver..."

"_Department of Mysteries..._" toned the elevator prompt.

The elevator came to a thundering halt, the grated doors sliding open to reveal the cool, dark granite and eerie silence of the Department of Mysteries.

"Move out..." said Harry, his voice echoing against the walls. They hadn't gone two feet from the elevator when one of the thick, black doors at the end of the corridor swung open, and a uniformed figure came out.

"Ah, yes, you must be the Aurors, with the case seventeen..." she said jauntily, "Bloody big isn't it? Whatever it is..."

"Yes, uh...where did you want the box, Miss-?"

"Oh, we don't have names down here. At least not officially. Just call me K..."

"K?" remarked Jonah.

"Yes?"

"Um, no, I meant-"

"Yes, I know what you meant..." she intoned, impatiently, "Drop it off in the main laboratory..."

She set off down the corridor, the Aurors following closely, the blue box drifting cacophonously behind them.

"Finally, something interesting happens in this place!" she commented merrily. "I so hope it's dark magic..."

"You _want _it to be dark?" inquired Ron dubiously.

"Of course, dark objects are always the most intriguing..." she said, "Such powerful, intricate magic. It's my job to study them, you see, but thanks to you, Mr Potter, I haven't been very busy for months..."

"Well excuse me for saving the country..." murmured Harry, "You recognise me then?"

"How could I not, Mr Potter, _Crixsom Benign_..."

_Harry_ rolled his eyes. That title, that bloody stupid title. He had a sudden desire to find the chap who ever came up with that ridiculous title and punch him in his bloody-

"_Just wait there_. _Patience, I'll only be a second_..." came a sudden crackly voice from behind them.

The entourage came to a sudden halt. Harry quickly turned to see that the telephone receiver had fallen out of the cabinet (Ron clearly hadn't put it back correctly) and was dangling near the floor.

"What was _that_?" asked K curiously.

"_There's a little bit of temporal disturbance going on...strange_..." spoke the receiver.

"There's a telephone on the outside, and it says...things..." admitted Harry.

"Are there people in this thing?" she asked, astonished.

"You Unspeakables deemed it safe a few minutes ago, surely you would know?" said Ron.

"Well it didn't start _talking_until now! This could be Walpurgis for all we know! I like dark magic, but not when it's being cast right at me! I am reclassifying this as dangerous-"

"_Yes, I think so. Let's head out!"_

The four of them fell silent and tensed on the spot, half-expecting the doors of the blue box to suddenly burst open and reveal its secret. Regardless, the doors remained firmly shut, and nothing could be heard from within. After a few minutes of utter silence, the Aurors lowered their guard.

"Clara..." puzzled Harry, "There aren't any females in Walpurgis..."

"Nevermind that now..." hissed K. "Just get it into the main laboratory. _Quickly_..."

Harry secured the receiver firmly back into its box, and the three Aurors levitated the blue box into a surprisingly bright room at the end of the corridor, full of technical looking apparatus and a few other Unspeakables, curiously regarding the object in tow.

"Now, put it in the stasis chamber..." she said, opening a large safe-like door at the other end, "I normally wouldn't, but something is not right with this thing..."

They followed her instructions, and dropped the mysterious box inside the chamber, which she subsequently closed. With a large crunching sound, the door sealed and then locked.

"Well done you three. We'll tear it apart from here. You can go..."

The three departed the lab.

"That box was weird, whatever it was..."

"It's none of our concern now. We just delivered it, our job's done, let's get promoted!"

"So we're not gonna wonder how it just magically appeared in the Atrium? There's more to this, I guarantee it..." speculated Harry.

"Well, if anything, it doesn't seem dark to me..." commented Jonah, "The guy on the phone was far too articulated to be part of Walpurgis. And your right, Harry; there are no females in Walpurgis..."

"Guys, it was probably just a prank. We should just be grateful that it happened today! It made our final tasks ridiculously easy! Besides, the D.O.M. will have all the answers soon enough..."

"A prank? The Ministry is now probably the most fortified place in the entire world. It's a little out of the reach of _pranksters_..." remarked Jonah.

"Well, you said it yourself Jonah, you don't think it's a dark object..."

"Which is why I think there's more to this..." maintained Harry.

"Just relax, you two. Oh, hey James!" said Ron.

Harry looked up to see James Ruddleford coming down the corridor, carrying what looked like large plants under his arms.

"Morning Ruddells.." taunted Jonah. Harry elbowed him in the rib.

"Good morning..." said James tersely, not given any sign that he had heard Jonah, "Were you guys involved in the case seventeen earlier?"

"Yeah, we just moved it to the Department of Mysteries. A big blue box, very weird..."

"That does sound very weird..."

"What are those plant things?"

"Oh, these? Some agents found them growing in the Royal Botanical Gardens. They're pretty ferocious, and transmit a strange infection to wizards by biting them..."

Harry, Ron and Jonah stepped back.

"Don't worry..." he said, "They've been fully stunned. The Department of Mysteries should be able to analyse them for me..."

"And here's me thinking you were showing off your girlfriend Ruddells..." jeered Jonah. James' face went stony.

"Do you want me to wake her up, James, because she is awfully _snappy_ when's she woken up..." said James, with a smirk. James stepped back a little more.

"See you guys later then..." said James, finally, and left towards the laboratory.

"Stop picking on him..." said Ron tersely.

"It's just playful banter..."

"That wasn't playful. Nor was it banter. You suck at banter.._."_

"It's not my fault he's so strait-laced all the time. Guy should relax more..."

"Shut up Jonah..."

A few minutes later, they found themselves back in the Atrium. The cordoned off circle and the white tent had disappeared, and a steady stream of disgruntled commuters were beginning to file in from the Floo terminal. Denzel, Carrington, and a few other Aurors remainder in one corner, in heavy conversation, but stopped as the three of them approached.

"Is it done?" asked Denzel simply.

"Yup. Safely in the hands of the so-called 'K'..."

"Ah, yes. Quite the character, but our finest tenebarumologist..."

"Our finest _what_?"

"Dark magic researcher, essentially..."

"Yes, she did have quite the fetish for all things dark..."

"Anyway, job well done. Not that it was particularly challenging, but it needed to be done. We should get answers from the D.O.M. hopefully by the end of the day. In the meantime, I think it's time for you three to get your official promotions-"

Denzel faltered as several things suddenly happened around them. Bright, white, incomprehensible light flooded the Atrium, and the marble floor shook as if caught in an earthquake. But then there was the noise, an utterly unfathomable sound, screeching against the walls of the Atrium, a noise which made all of them turn, and look behind them.

The blue box was sitting in the exact some spot it was found earlier, the attention of the whole Atrium on it.

"That's-"

"_Impossible_-"

"It's in the Department of Mysteries-"

"_What the hell is going on_?!"

It was the same blue box as earlier, at least in appearance. But then, something happened which was remarkably different to the behaviour of the earlier box: the doors flung wide open.

"The Hasrion Pendant should be here somewhere-" came the voice of a man, sauntering out of the blue box and falling silent at what he saw. He was dressed in a odd purple waistcoat, accompanied by a bowtie, and Harry could make out a young woman standing behind him looking equally surprised.

There was a few seconds of complete, astounded silence in the Atrium.

"Um, hello everyone...very, very sorry for intruding, but I do think we're in the wrong place..."


	5. The Planet of the White Witches

**Chapter 5: The Planet of the White Witches**

_**Item 56: The Hasrion Pendant**_

_Although not a Gallifreyan artefact per se, the Hasrion Pendant still played a significant role in the early history of Time Lord society._

_It was the most powerful objet d'art of the White Witches, one of the oldest civilisations in the universe, who befriended the early Gallifreyans and assisted in the consolidation of Time Lord society. The Witches, from the planet Crixsos Delta Three and led by the Queen of the Witches, had natural control over the so called "psionic" energy, a natural energy that allowed them to perturb matter and the laws of physics around them, effects which more primitive species would call "magic"._

_The White Witches came from the same evolutionary line as the infamous Carrionites, whom became obsessed with power and dark energy. The Carrionites left Crixsos Delta Three, and became a great civilisation, before being devastated by the Eternals and scattered throughout the universe. However, several sects still remained, and occasionally engaged the White Witches in war._

_According to legend, an ancient Witch made the Hasrion Pendant out of her own body and life force. The Hasrion Pendant was capable of revealing the darkest or most meaningful secrets of a living being, whether they knew it or not, which proved useful to the early leaders of Gallifrey._

_The Witches would allow Omega, and later Rassilon, to borrow the Hasrion Pendant, and use it to detect dissent amongst other Time Lords, detecting any sign of resistance, opposition or discord, which could be subsequently expunged. Many rising Time Lord politicians were killed by Omega and Rassilon as a result, but their control was secured._

_One may query the apparent readiness for the White Witches to loan their most revered object, but ancient Gallifreyan texts do comment on the Queen's romantic attraction to Omega. It is more likely, however, that the Witches were fascinated by the Time Lord ability of regeneration, and were probably hoping for an exchange of knowledge, an exchange which never ultimately came to fruition._

_After centuries hoping the Time Lords would reveal their anatomical secret, they broke off ties with them, approximately two million years ago, and subsequently their status in Time Lord culture descended into mythology._

_Their current status is unknown._

The Doctor was leaning against the console of the TARDIS, reading Romana's entry with fervent interest. He had known of the existence of the White Witches ever since he was in the Citadel nursery. The Hasrion Pendant was presented to him as a fairy tale, as an entity who could see through people and darkness, and acted as a force for good. A model of the woman hung above his cot, all those years ago. It was just a fairy tale, but Romana's book labelled it as being real. The mere premise of this was incredibly intriguing.

Could it solve the mystery that was Clara?

_The Hasrion Pendant was capable of revealing the darkest or most meaningful secrets of a living being, whether they knew it or not..._

In a mere second of excited consideration, he made up his mind:

A Time Lord would borrow from the Witches one last time.

* * *

It was the cold, dark morning of the eleventh of March. The Maitland household was totally silent, well, at least until-

"Wakey wakey, Artie, Angie, time for school!" chimed Clara, entering the kids' bedroom and switching on the lights, much to the chagrin of the siblings.

"It's too early..." moaned Angie, "Can't we have five more minutes?"

"No can do, it's already seven. You don't want to miss your bus..."

"Five more minutes, _please_..."

"All right, all right, just be downstairs in ten..."

Clara whisked down the stairs and into the kitchen, a few sheets of paper tucked underneath her arms. She prepared two bowls of cereal and put the kettle on with one hand, whilst examining the papers with the other.

"'_Why is it that do you want to teach English here at Coal Hill school_?'" she read aloud, "Um...I've always had a deep and profound enjoyment and enthusiasm of the literature arts, and wish to carry over that fervour to the youth of today...no that sounds cheesy, darn it..."

"'_What are you favourite classical authors, and why_?'" she pondered, "I would say Charlotte Brontë, she was a real lovely person, despite coming from the Andromeda galaxy. Ah, I can't really say that, can I..."

The kettle boiled just as the doorbell rang. She dashed over to the front door.

"Hello Clara!" yelled the Doctor excitedly, when she opened it, the TARDIS parked rather nonchalantly in the street behind him.

"Hello Doctor...wait, _WHAT_? Doctor, what are you doing here, _now_? I thought we agreed to weekends?!" said Clara, dropping her interview questions all over the floor in shock.

"What day is it?"

"It's Monday! Monday morning!"

"Oh. I aimed for yesterday. Still, Monday morning is technically still part of the weekend. The week doesn't start until you start 'working'...that's what you guys call it, right?"

"Well I've got work in thirty minutes, thank you very much!"

"What work, you don't have a job..."

"Well, it's _potential_ work. It's a job interview..."

"Ooh, where?"

"Just some comprehensive school in Shoreditch. As much as I'd love to be whisked away to faraway worlds, I can't today..." said Clara.

"I can get you back in time for it, I have a time machine, after all..."

"Says the man who aimed for Sunday, but got Monday!"

"That was just a one-off error. They're rare, honest..."

"Well I don't want to lose my train of thought. This is important to me..."

"Clara, you're a right clever clogs, they're hardly going to say no to you. Tell you what, I'll give you a lift there. What's the name of the school?"

"Coal Hill school, in Shoreditch..."

The Doctor faltered, and then suddenly grinned.

"Seriously?"

"Um...yes?"

His grin broadened.

"Oh coincidences are the universe's way of having fun, I love it. Stay right there, I'll be...um, right back..."

The Doctor ran off to the TARDIS, pausing a moment to look back at Clara with a look of complete merriment, before disappearing inside. With that inimitable metallic thrumming, it disappeared. Seconds later, however, it reappeared, and the Time Lord re-emerged with a rather complacent grin on his face.

"Consider the job yours..." he uttered, proudly.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Clara bemusedly.

"That school and I go back a long way. I used to know the Chairman of Governors there, a very long time ago..."

"What, Mr Chesterton?"

"My goodness, yes..." he said, with a very nostalgic look in his eyes, "We had a nice long chat. Told him all about you. Took you onboard immediately..."

"Are you serious?" asked Clara.

"Of course. You start next Monday..." said the Doctor, proudly, passing Clara several documents. "Clara Oswald, English teacher..."

"Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed, pulling him into a hug. "You don't know how much this means to me. But isn't that cronyism?"

"Ian said how he was most impressed by your CV. You had the job in the bag anyway, I just simply quickened the process so that I could - as you put it - _whisk you away to faraway worlds_..."

"Alright then, where are we going?" she asked, excitedly.

"We, Clara Oswald, are going to Crixsos Delta Three..."

* * *

"Why are we in Cardiff?" asked Clara, ten minutes later. The pair had set off with earnest, with the Doctor promising the intriguing world of 'Crixsos Delta Three', only to end up in south Wales of all places. Was 'Crixsos Delta Three' Welsh for something? It certainly sounded like Welsh.

"There is a massive hole in the fabric of reality around Cardiff. It's called the Rift. I'm using its energy to refuel the TARDIS for the trip ahead..."

"The TARDIS needs fuel?" pondered Clara.

"Of course! It needs an Artron energy top up now and again, and we're going to need a lot of the stuff to get to Crixsos Delta Three. The planet exists in a kind of time maze. Imagine a lump of cheese with holes in it and Crixsos in the centre-"

"Ok..."

"Well it's nothing like that..."

"Oh..."

"But, we'll need a good old push to get in there. We'll need one or two more minutes here to get the necessary amount of energy..."

"So, why are we going to Crixsos? Because, this sounds more than just a passing curiosity. After all, you've actually planned something for once, what with this pit stop..."

He shuffled his feet. Clara gave him a questioning look.

"I found something in Romana's book..."

"Yes, you said you had found a passage of interest. What was it?"

"Crixsos Delta Three is the home of the White Witches, an ancient race of beings with control over natural forces and matter, effects humans would label as magic, but in reality is just high biological science. They used to be old friends of the Time Lords, and they possess an ancient artefact I would like to...erm...see..."

"And this artefact is?"

"It's called the Hasrion Pendant. It can reveal the secrets of any living creature..."

"Why is that of interest to you?"

"Does there have to be a reason?"

"Well it has a rather specific purpose..."

"Clara, I've heard of the fairytale of the Hasrion Pendant since I was in my cot on Gallifrey. But that's all I thought it was - a fairytale. This book, which I consider a very reliable source due to its author, states it is grounded in fact, and that fascinates me. I wish to take a look myself..."

"If the author is such a reliable source, why can't you just take her word for it?"

"Because there are some things in life that cannot be understood nor fully appreciated through words on a page. Some things have to be witnessed in person to truly comprehend their splendour..."

"Nicely put. Mind if I quote that? English teachers must always have a bank of good quotes..."

The Doctor smirked.

"Copyright 'The Doctor', please," he quipped, "But in seriousness, this could be an absolutely edifying experience for us both, assuming we're not imprisoned..."

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Well, the Time Lords didn't exactly leave themselves on good terms with the Witches. They helped the Time Lords frequently, according to Romana's book, using the Hasrion Pendant in fact, but the Time Lords never returned the favour..."

"Oh great. We could be turned into frogs, or boiled in a cauldron..."

"They're not _those _kinds of witches. That's just the convention here on Earth. As far as the fairytale went, they're a sophisticated civilisation..."

"But, they can perform actual _magic_?"

"Like I said, it's just high biological science. Nothing mysterious nor supernatural..."

The TARDIS suddenly made a noise akin to deep, metallic rumble.

"Ah, pit stop complete. Let's go..."

The Doctor inputted a combination of seemingly random instructions into the console, and pulled the long black level to the side of it, as he always did. The TARDIS lurched into life, making a lot more noise than usual.

"That's rather loud..." commented Clara, "Did the pit stop do that?"

"It shouldn't have..." murmured the Doctor concernedly, "Strange..."

"You said Crixsos was in the time cheese maze thing. Wouldn't that do something?" pointed out Clara. That was certainly something you didn't say every day, she thought.

"We haven't arrived there yet-"

The TARDIS shook violently.

"Now we've entered the time cheese..."

"That must be the weirdest thing you've ever said, and that's saying something!"

The TARDIS shook again. Clara hastily clutched onto the railings for balance.

"What the hell is happening?"

"Imagine time turbulence-"

"Ok-"

"Well it's not like that at all-"

"Stop doing that!"

With a final, crackly thrum, and resulting judder, the TARDIS became very still. The Doctor surveyed the monitor; a wide, anticipatory smile on his face.

"We've made it. The Planet of the White Witches, Crixsos Delta Three. This is almost surreal..."

The TARDIS made a low groaning sound.

"Is she ok?" she asked anxiously.

"Something wasn't quite right with that journey. It wasn't just the time maze. Something else happened..."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure. Let me just check..."

Whilst the Doctor probed the monitor, Clara headed over to the door, and peeked out of one of the small windows.

"It sure is bright out there..."

"Don't go outside!"

"I wasn't going to!"

"Just wait there. Patience, I'll only be a second..."

"Fine..."

"There's a little bit of temporal disturbance going on...odd..."

"What do you mean?"

"Something in the future is influencing her. Nothing as bad as last time, but still..."

"Why, what happened last time?"

"Something influenced her to _blow up_. Never found out what the influence was, but I have my hunches..."

"Oh...but she's pretty not-blown-up now..."

"I rebooted the universe. Her explosion caused it to collapse, but the reboot fixed everything..."

"Oh...must have missed that..."

"I don't think this, however, is anything bad, but I don't think its preventable. Maybe it's why I arrived on Monday instead of Sunday. I think she should be fine..."

"Shall we, then?" asked Clara, nodding at the door.

"Yes, I think so. Let's head out!" he agreed, and the pair sauntered out of the TARDIS and into the bright world beyond.

It take a few seconds for Clara's eyes to adjust to the scene in front of her, but when they ultimately did, her jaw dropped. Even the Doctor shared her look of complete and utter awe.

They were parked on a long, diamond-esque pathway that stretched upwards and upwards to a massive, gleaming white castle built upon a plateau. To either side of the pathway was a sapphire blue ocean which stretched on for miles in either direction, curving around a large, high-rising city that lay directly behind them on the path. In the sky, three white stars shone brightly, illuminating every aspect of the world around them.

"Wonderful. I love new planets..." beamed the Doctor joyfully. "Up there must be the Palace of the Witches, home of the Queen, who I assume owns the Pendant. Best place to start, come on-"

They hadn't taken one step forward when they found their path suddenly blocked by two women draped entirely in white, appearing out of thin air. Each of them was pointing what looked like a wooden stick at the Doctor, who recoiled at their sudden presence. Clara wondered what the sticks were, as they certainly didn't _look_ threatening.

"Oh, hello there..." he said, regaining his composure, "I'm the Doctor-"

"Names are irrelevant..." said one of the women with a dreamy, albeit resolute, voice. She had long blonde hair which traversed all the way down to her legs, and an impossibly perfect, beautiful face. "You are trespassing on Royal dominion, state your intent..."

"Yes, sorry, I should explain myself-"

"Wait. You...you are a Time Lord..." interjected the other women, much more fiercely. She, opposed to the other woman, had short brown hair, but had the same mystical, singsong voice. "I recognise your life force signature..."

"Yes, I am a Time Lord..." admitted the Doctor, "A nice one though..."

"A Time Lord hasn't set foot on Crixsos in over one million years. I presume you are a survivor of the Time War, then?" asked the blonde woman. "Our seers predicted that two Time Lords would initially survive the Time War..."

"What do you mean by '_initially'_?" questioned the Doctor. She said nothing.

"Who was the other survivor?" asked Clara curiously.

"An old enemy of mine. Long story, but he's dead now. Well, as good as dead..." divulged the Doctor.

"Possibly..." said the blonde woman, with a perceptive smile. The Doctor shot her a very inquiring look.

"Who are you? _You_ are not a Time Lord..." stated the brown haired woman, regarding Clara curiously. "I do not recognise your life force signature at all..."

"Oh, I'm Clara. Human. Lord of English Teaching, way better than time..." she quipped. The Doctor smirked, despite himself.

"You have an excellent biology..." uttered the blonde woman.

"Oh...thank you. That...means a lot, whatever it means..."

"Why are you both here? State your intent..." interjected the brown haired woman.

"I'm here to...um...see the Hasrion Pendant, if possible..."

The two women went stony faced. The Doctor took a trepidatious step back.

"You have some nerve..." spat the brown haired woman, "After all the Witches of old did for the Time Lords, never returning our kindness, you think your kind can return to our sacred world and be so impudent?"

"I understand what Omega and Rassilon did, but they represented the very worst of the Time Lords. They were power hungry, corrupt madmen, but they're gone now..."

"Do you think their deaths would clear the Time Lord debt to our race?"

"Well, what can I do to repay it, settle the score?"

"There is nothing you could possibly do. Not only did you fail to repay us for the use of Pendant, but you ignored our pleas when our planet was devastated by the Demons of the Run. We begged you for help, but you did nothing..."

"When was this?"

"Four thousand years ago..."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea..."

"Of course you didn't, Time Lord..."

"Who were the Demons of the Run?" asked Clara.

"An ancient Carrionite sect that pursue the evil that is dark magic. They laid waste to our world whilst the Time Lords stood idle. We lost the Queen and Pendant..." uttered the brown haired woman.

"It's gone?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, Time Lord, they're gone. As you should be. You should leave this world at once and never return..."

"Please, I can do something to help! What do you mean by "lost"? Do you mean they were physically destroyed or you sent them away for protection?"

"You must leave _now_-"

"The latter..." said the blonde woman. The other woman looked at her irately. "He has a good, honest heart Idelana. With his TARDIS, he _could_ help us find them, and repay the debt of the Time Lords..."

"He's a Time Lord, Cephenrene..." said the now named Idelana, as if that settled the matter, "Nothing good has ever come from them..."

"He's remarkably different. I can tell..." said Cephenrene, eyes fixated on the Doctor. "You know I can see these things in people..."

Idelana looked at her companion incredulously,

"Yes! I am totally willing to help! Just tell me all you can and I'll get the Queen and the Pendant back..." enthused the Doctor.

"Yeah, he's great at that sort of stuff..." added Clara, "He's certainly the man for the job..."

There was a moment of tense silence between the two women and the Doctor.

"Do what you see as necessary, Cephenrene... I will have no part in it... " said Idelana simply, and disappeared into thin air.

"I'm sorry about her disposition. She sorely misses the Queen. They were very close friends..."

"But...didn't you say that was over four thousand years ago?" asked Clara incredulously.

"Four thousand years is but a heartbeat in our lives. We live for hundreds of millions of years, the majority of that time as children..." said Cephenrene dreamily.

"Why as children?" enquired Clara.

"The eyes of children are more open to the beauty and enigmatic wonder of the magic and love we hold so dear, so we have evolved to have longer childhoods..."

"But in four thousand years, you haven't gone looking for the Queen?" enquired the Doctor.

"Of course, we have tried, but every rescue ship we send out is destroyed by the surviving Demons out there in the nebula fields. They're too weak to attack our world again, but they block every attempt we make to recover the Queen. And, in any event, we have no exact idea where she is. All rescue ships are simply pointed in the direction she left..."

"What happened then, at the end of the war?"

"When the Demons were closing in on the Palace, we sent the Queen and Pendant away from Crixsos for her safety. They were travelling fast enough to escape the Demons encircling our world. We had little time to plan a trajectory, there was so little time. There is very little hope in us ever finding them, Doctor, and I fear the Demons are trying to find her even now, but at least we know she's still alive..."

"How do you know that?"

"_We're_ still alive. Our life force is connected to her. If she died, we would all perish..."

"Blimey. Quite some dependence you've got there..." commented Clara.

"Well, now you see why we had to send them away. She was the primary target of the Demons. It was the safest option for all of us at the time, but with the Demon ships out there, we cannot mount a rescue mission, even if we knew where they were..."

"How did you end up winning the war, then?"

"She was an incredibly skilled Witch. As she departed Crixsos, she used up a lot of her life force to destroy the Demon forces surrounding the planet. We gained the advantage after that, but she would have been severely weakened..."

"If she's still alive, she can be found, Cephenrene, and I can settle this age old debt between our species..."

"How will you find her? She could be anywhere in the galaxy..."

"Well, tell me, would she have elected to escape to a particular kind of planet?"

"She would have been drawn to planets with ample life, in order to replenish her life force..."

"Well, unfortunately that narrows down very little. The universe is so full of life these days. Do you have any object that was psionically attached to her?"

"You speak with unfamiliar words, Doctor. Science is not the discipline of the Witches, only magic..."

"I don't mean to be rude, but your magic can be explained using some very simple quantum mechanics. You have evolved to control a very elusive life energy known as psionic energy, which can manipulate other forms of energy and matter at a subatomic level-ow!"

Clara had elbowed him in the ribs.

"Don't get clever, just explain it to her in words she can understand..." pressed Clara.

"Alright, alright...do you have any object that she was attached to? Objects in close proximity to her would have picked up aspects of her life force, I could use it to lock onto her current position..."

"Is that possible?" asked Cephenrene, surprised.

"With a touch of science, and the TARDIS, yes..."

"We have the Receptacle of Pendant..." she said, "She always held onto it, but it was forgotten in our haste to get the Queen and Pendant away from Crixsos..."

"That might do..."

"I will collect it from the palace vaults..." she uttered, and disappeared on the spot.

"Blimey, we're getting deep into this, aren't we?" stated Clara, "So, she gives us this Receptacle, you find her, we bring her back here? All of that, just to see one bloody Pendant?"

"I have a debt to repay..."

"No, it's more than that. You want to use the Pendant for something, and you're keeping it a secret from me. You're a good person, I know that, and you want to help people whenever you can, but you were borderline _desperate_ to help these people, and don't tell me you feel liable for that debt, I know you don't..."

"Clara, this is what I do, what I've always done: help people! That's why I'm called the Doctor! There is no hidden prerogative here..."

"Except you're not called 'the Doctor', are you? You have a hidden name, _another_ secret. Why so many secrets? Can't you trust me? Can you even trust anyone?"

"It's not a matter of trust, it's a matter of protection. I don't keep secrets for _the sake _of keeping secrets. I keep them to keep the people I care about safe..."

Cephenrene then reappeared, this time clutching a small golden object, encrusted with jewels, which looked a lot like-

"A tiara?" asked Clara, bemused.

"The Receptacle of Pendant..." insisted Cephenrene, passing it to the Doctor.

"But, isn't a pendant generally worn around the neck, why would it's receptacle be a tiara-" started Clara, but the Doctor had already disappeared into the TARDIS.

"Let's take a look at this puppy then..." said the Doctor, Clara following in his wake. He placed the Receptacle on the console, and began to wire it up to an assortment of different components.

"Remarkable Time Lord technology..." said Cephenrene, astonished, stepping into the TARDIS behind them, "The internal volume is significantly greater than the external shape would visually indicate..."

"That's definitely the fanciest way anyone has ever said 'it's bigger on the inside'..." commented the Doctor.

"You Time Lords had such incredible secrets..." said Cephenrene, admiring the console.

"Yeah, tell me about it..." said Clara, with a calculating look at the Doctor, "Tell me though, why didn't you ever just use the Pendant on the Time Lords? It revealed secrets, didn't it?"

"We did, but the secrets were too advanced for us to understand. Like I said, our discipline is magic, not science..."

"Ah, look at that!" said the Doctor excitedly, "I've picked up a very weak psionic signature, and the TARDIS is just refining the exact location. Huh, Clara, it looks like the Queen fled to somewhere in the lower Orion Arm, not too far from the-"

He broke off suddenly, and his mouth hung open.

"Doctor, what is it?" asked Clara, anxiously.

"I even said it earlier..." he whispered, almost to himself, "Coincidences are the universe's way of having fun..."

"No, no, tell me she isn't on-"

"She is. Planet Earth...wow, that is..._wow_..."

"No way! The odds are astronomical, there's no way...no way...it's impossible!"

"Is it though? Cephenrene, you said the Queen would be attracted to planets of ample life, correct?"

"Yes, that is true, Time Lord. What is the significance of this 'Earth'?"

"A planet with an incredible variety and abundance of life. Clara's home planet..."

Cephenrene eyes widened.

"My goodness..." she whispered.

"What is it?" asked the Doctor.

"Well...as I said earlier, Clara has an excellent biology..."

"Yes, what did you actually mean by that?" asked Clara.

"I meant that your species would be well suited to magic..." uttered Cephenrene, "How many of you were there on this Earth four thousand years ago?"

"I dunno, a few million I'd imagine, I'm an English teacher, not a History teacher..."

"That sounds about right..." affirmed the Doctor.

Cephenrene looked even more shocked.

"What is it, Cephenrene?" asked the Doctor.

"She must have been tailed by the Demons..." she said, her voice breaking, "She needed to protect herself further..."

"What do you mean?"

"She would have been attracted to your planet for your people, to transform some of you into Witches, to protect her and keep her hidden from the Demons. It's a process we call transitimisation..."

"Wait, that can't be true, witches are just a fairytale on Earth, they aren't actually real..." pointed out Clara.

"They wouldn't have made themselves obvious, not if they were shielding the Queen and Pendant from the Demons..." stated Cephenrene.

"Do you think the Demons could have followed her straight to Earth?" asked the Doctor, seriously.

"It's possible, yes, but if the transitimisation was successful, she should be well protected and hidden. But the Demons would probably investigate a planet like Earth, if what you describe is true..."

"That means the Earth is at risk from the Demons..." said Clara, "Isn't it Doctor?"

"Yes..." he uttered, straightening his bowtie, "Although I have never encountered these Demons explicitly, I encountered another Carrionite sect in Elizabethan England, and they're highly dangerous..."

"What do we do?"

"Find the Queen, and get her back here. She'll be safer here now that the war is over, and the Earth should be left well alone..."

"Time Lord, if you can do that, the debt will be repaid, and the White Witches of Crixsos Delta Three will be forever grateful. We can do nothing with the Demons out there in the nebula field..."

"Oh, I'll get her back, don't you worry, Cephenrene. No Demons can block me, not when I'm in my TARDIS... but I do have one last question..."

"Ask it, Time Lord..."

"Well, I have to ask, why did you trust me in the first place? You and Idelana could have banished me from Crixsos, but you didn't. You convinced Idelana otherwise..."

"It was your eyes, Time Lord..."

"My eyes?"

"The eyes are the gateway to the soul. For you, they show pain, so much pain, Time Lord..."

"That's no reason to trust anyone-"

"Pain shows care, care shows love, and love is the thing we hold closest, even before magic. No other Time Lord that has come here has shown such emotion. You are different in that one, crucial respect. Now, go, Time Lord, and prove to me that I am not mistaken..."

"Aren't you coming with us?"

"My powers dwindle outside of Crixsos. I will be of little help to you..." she said uttered leaving the TARDIS.

"If you're sure then...oh, can I borrow the Receptacle? I'll need it to follow the psionic link..."

"Of course you can. Good luck, Doctor..."

"Thank you. Well then, allons-y! Uhh, forget I ever said that, stupid expression..."

The doors shut, and the Doctor set straight to work on the console, pulling switches, levers and buttons, and connecting more and more wires to the Receptacle on the console.

"What are you doing?" asked Clara, as the TARDIS set into motion.

"Amplifying the signal eleven-fold, we're gonna need a precise fix on its location on Earth..."

"I still can't believe it's on Earth..." pressed Clara, still dubious, "Of _all _the planets and places in the universe...how is it possible?"

The Doctor sighed.

"The universe is big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes impossible things just happen and we ask ourselves _'how?_', '_how can that possibly be?', _just as you are now. But, then we realise, even events of unimaginably low probability can happen on a regular basis in a universe this size, where so many things are happening at any one time. Throw in what Cephenrene said about the Queen's attraction to life, maybe even human life, and it doesn't seem unlikely at all..."

Clara paused. "But _Earth _for goodness' sake-"

She was cut off when the TARDIS suddenly shook violently.

"Gah! It's the same temporal disturbance from before...but, wait...it's actually refining the signal, making our destination more precise..."

"Is that a good thing?" asked Clara, as sparks flared from the time rotor.

"Well it means, we're flying into fixed time. Our immediate future is ready for our arrival, and so, whatever it entails, must be of temporal significance. We're been drawn naturally into the causal matrix of events..."

"What does that _mean_?" shouted Clara, as the noise escalated.

"Something astonishingly timey-wimey!"

"Something what?" yelled Clara, over the din.

"Timey-wimey!"

"Something _what_?"

"TIMEY-WIMEY!"

The TARDIS shuddered aggressively, making a deep crunching sound.

"We're being pulled through, by time itself! Eleventh of March 2013...England..._London_...oh, for goodness' sake, sometimes I think the universe is just taking the pi-"

The TARDIS trembled one last time, and went eerily quiet.

"Well...we've landed..." said the Doctor, surveying the monitor, "But the TARDIS doesn't know _where_..."

"It said London, didn't it?"

"It did a minute ago, but there's a lot of interference out there..." he pondered, "I'm not getting any fix on where we are at all. Still, there's no better way to find out than taking a look outside..."

He ran to the doors.

"The Hasrion Pendant should be here somewhere-"

He ambled out, and immediately faltered. Clara peeked around his shoulder, and was perplexed at what she saw. They had arrived in what looked like a large, dark hall, filled with oddly dressed people staring at them, all sharing the same look of utter bewilderment.

The Doctor awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Um, hello everyone...very, very sorry for intruding, but I do think we're in the wrong place..."

* * *

**So, yeah, the worlds have finally collided :) I am very excited about the potential for this story, and I'm glad to see the positive feedback. I'm also quite proud of some the quotes in this chapter. Hope you like it :)**


	6. The Cabinet Reshuffle

**Chapter 6: The Cabinet Reshuffle**

It was a dull rainy Sunday evening in London, not that that was anything unusual.

The Prime Minister sat alone in his office, reading a series of memos from various stuffy diplomats in the European Union, condemning his government for not contributing enough towards their science projects in Geneva, the usual rubbish. The Prime Minister thought these oppressive bureaucrats of Brussels were dim-witted and a little bit unhinged, but what could he do? Retort? That would be foolish, even if satisfying.

"Prime Minister..." came the voice of his intern, Gerald, through the intercom.

"Yes, Gerald?" said the Prime Minister sternly. He did not like to be interrupted whilst reading.

"The Secretary of State for Defence is here to see you..."

"Hoon? What does he want?"

"He has the official police report of the Bose-Carbora event..."

"Oh...well, send him in at once..."

A few seconds later, the Prime Minister's war torn Defence minister Charles Hoon entered the office, carrying a leather briefcase.

"Evening Charles," said the Prime Minister. "So, tell me. What do the police think happened up there in Yorkshire?"

"Well, they're a bit confused, to be honest..." said Hoon, extracting a few files from the briefcase.

"In what way?"

"Well, this entire event resembles a very elaborate burglary, but a very odd one..."

"What was Bose-Carbora again? Some kind of church right?"

"An early twelfth-century monastery to be exact, next to the town of Hawksworth..."

"So what is the cause of confusion?"

"Well, you recall the explosion that engulfed the entire monastery, correct?"

"Quite. It had no apparently obvious cause..."

"It appears the assailants were trying to gain access to a previously unknown basement in the monastery, and managed to, by the look of things. According to the police report, there was some strange stuff down there..."

"What do you mean by 'strange'?"

"They found architectural plans of buildings which don't even exist, shrunken heads, there was even one report of what looked like a cauldron..." said Hoon, cycling through some of the papers from his briefcase, "Possibly some religious cult, albeit with a keen interest in architecture..."

"Right..." said the Prime Minister, his mind racing. Could it be _them_, he thought. The hidden society? They were usually behind or linked to strange or unusual events, and this definitely came underneath the banner of that.

"The assailants certainly had a good look through the place, but we can't be sure what they took, if anything. They certainly wanted it very bad, judging by their means of entry..."

"So, these assailants deliberately used explosives, or whatever, just to break into a church basement?"

"Well, a church basement which not even the vicar knew existed, and his family have owned the monastery since the Reformation..."

"Very odd. But what did you say earlier...about architectural plans?"

"The police found blueprints of buildings that have been verified to not exist, nor ever exist, in places all across the UK. Birmingham, Leeds, Cirencester, Exeter, Canterbury, none in London though. All of them by some chap called Quentin Blakeworthy, who doesn't exist on any census records..."

"Right...right. Just to check, we're the only ones to know about all this, correct?"

"Only you, me, and the senior officials of the West Yorkshire Police..."

"Right, well, very interesting. However, I suppose it'll be just one of those mysteries that no one can ever explain. Maybe something for Mycroft's brother to investigate...although that would be an improper government operation...yes, forget I said that. Anyway, I have papers to read, so..." said the Prime Minister hurriedly, already eyeing up the portrait of the stumpy man on the wall.

"Oh...already, sir? There are a few more reports here..."

"No, no, I don't want Brussels shouting at me again, these have to be addressed..."

"All right, sir, but I could leave the reports here, if you so desire?"

"No, that's fine, just...just let the M.O.D. take a look at them and announce a suitable public statement..."

"Ok then...goodbye Prime Minister..." said Charles, surprised, exiting the office. As soon as he had left, the Prime Minister leaped from his chair, locked the door, and turned to resolutely face the little painting of the stumpy man on the wall.

"I seek to make liaison..." he whispered to it.

"Speak up, I can't hear you..." retorted the stumpy man.

"_Liaison_. _Now_. Get me the Minister for Magic..."

"I'm afraid the Minister for Magic is preoccupied at the moment, can you please leave a message?"

"What are you, an answering machine?! Just tell him that I think the Bose-Carbora event has got something to do with _your _lot..."

"What is this Bose-Carbora event you speak of?"

"I just literally had a meeting about it three seconds ago. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Why would I pay attention, Muggle affairs are so dull..."

"Well, I don't think this _is_ a Muggle affair! I've got a pretty serious hunch that some of you lot are involved somehow. _Now get me Shacklebolt_..."

"And I told you, Shacklebolt is busy. But I will certainly relay your concerns to him..."

"Now you listen here-"

"Prime Minister, Immanuel Aldeborne is here to see you..." came the voice of Gerald again.

"What? Aldeborne? What does he want?"

"He wishes to talk to you about the imminent Cabinet reshuffle..."

"Oh well...I suppose that sounds important. Let him in, thanks, Gerald..." he uttered, sighing, unlocking the door. He turned back to the painting, to see that the stumpy fellow had left, leaving the Prime Minister with hope that he could soon talk to Shacklebolt. He deeply wished that, if Bose-Carbora was indeed connected to the impossible society of wizards and witches that shared his country, it didn't mean they had another crisis on their hands. The trouble caused by the feared and infamous 'He Who Must Not Be Named' had nearly cost him the previous election, and he certainly could do without the added stress.

"Prime Minister, very good to see you again..." said Immanuel Aldeborne, entering the Prime Minister's office. Immanuel was a tall, dark haired politician, who always dressed himself in a million shades of black. Although he sometimes lacked empathy with his constituents, and tended to lack emotion altogether, the Prime Minister admired his incredible ability to get things done.

"Yes, yes, it's good to see you too, sit down, Immanuel..."

"Thank you, sir..."

"Gerald said you wished to talk about the imminent Cabinet reshuffle, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you need a more radical change to the Cabinet than the one you are currently prescribing..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, your choices are frankly very lacklustre..."

"Immanuel, I have chosen my new Cabinet ministers very carefully, I'm sure they are well up to the job. If this is about me not selecting you for Secretary of State for Defence, well, I'm sorry, but Charles is more suitable in the role..."

"But look at how they handled the Bose-Carbora event..."

"Well that wasn't a M.O.D. operation, they just supervised the police..."

"But still. It was so slapdash. They missed so many obvious clues..."

"I'm sorry? How do you...how do you even know any of this? The police report was sent to me directly, a public statement hasn't been issued yet..."

"So primitive, so basic..."

"What? Look, Immanuel, I'm very busy at the moment. I've got Brussels-"

"We've been very patient..."

"Patient? What? Look, please-"

"I highly recommend placing _these_ people in the Cabinet positions instead..." said Immanuel, not breaking eye contact with the Prime Minister, thrusting a file into the Prime Minister's hands, "You should retain Samantha Tyler as Secretary of State for Education, however. She has done a wonderful job in convalescing the school curriculum..."

"Justin Black, MP...Ciandra Robertson, MP..." mumbled the Prime Minister, reading off a tall list of politicians, "Immanuel, this is ridiculous, Samantha is the only politician here in my central circle..."

"But you will place them in the Cabinet..."

"Immanuel, you do not tell what to do. If you continue to show such audacity, I will dismiss you from office..."

"But you won't..." said Immanuel defiantly, albeit with an air of frustration.

"Immanuel! What has got into you?"

"Do you remember how we first met, Prime Minister? All those years ago?" asked Immanuel abruptly. The Prime Minister surveyed him with concern.

"I'm sorry-?"

"We met prior to your re-election campaign. You made me your spin doctor for the whole run. I guaranteed your victory..."

"Well I wouldn't say guaranteed, but you certainly helped, yes-"

"No, I guaranteed it. It was difficult, though. Despite how incompetent your government was in the last parliament, flailing at the hands of that pathetic weakling Voldemort, I managed to influence enough of the electorate to secure your win..."

"What are you talking about...wait, _how on Earth do you know that name_? " demanded the Prime Minister in an astonished whisper, "Immanuel...are you...are you _one of them_? One of th-the wizards?"

"Oh, Prime Minister, I am above and beyond the tiny minds and feeble power of the wizards that inhabit this world. I am from far higher graces of magic..."

"What do you want? _Who even are you_?"

"My real name is Dtstraie, and I want _you_..."

"What? W-why?"

"Well, not _you_ per se. More precisely, I want your Cabinet positions, so we must..._control_ you to relinquish them. You are far easier to control than your opponent would have been, so that's the only reason I made you win the election..."

"Control? You have no control over me!"

"Not yet. Give it a few minutes, the bond is finalising. Influencing people is so easy, especially the bland sheep of this world, but control? It's much harder, you see. It takes some time to form the bond one needs to _fully_ control another person...but I've had many years with you..."

"You are not making any sense! Immanuel, if this is some stupid joke, please stop, it isn't funny..."

"And you know what else isn't funny?" shot Immanuel fiercely, "Having most of your people annihilated by an escaping harlot, who didn't even have the decency to face us in battle, who _ran away _like a coward..."

"W-what on Earth-?"

"No, not on Earth at all, but a very long way away from here. But now she's here. Somewhere in this tepid island. We are so close to finding her, and you're the final piece in the puzzle..."

"Me-me?"

"Now, with Mycroft out of the way, we can advance our plans..."

"What have you done to Mycroft?" demanded the Prime Minister.

"He fought our powers formidably, but he's under our control now. _You_ should be a lot easier..."

"Gerald!" said the Prime Minister, pushing the button on the intercom. "Get me security, now!"

"Gerald is dead..." said Immanuel coolly, "As is Charles Hoon..."

"Oh my God..." whispered the Prime Minister, shaking, "Why would you do such a thing?"

"Well, I believe, in the words of your people, you call it a _reshuffle_..."

Two people then burst into the Prime Minister's office. One of them was a red headed female, and the other a black male, both dressed in very strange looking black jumpsuits. The Prime Minister vaguely recognised them as some of his MP's, in fact-

"Justin Black...Ciandra Robertson...you two are my MP's...what the hell is going on?"

Behind them, in the corridor, the Prime Minister was horror-struck to see the charred and burnt bodies of Gerald and Charles, their corpses smouldering.

"Those are not their names. Not really. They are Aiyoe and Eyauoiea. My Demon brethren..."

"D-demons?"

Immanuel smiled. And then he did something which utterly horrified the Prime Minister, leaving him unable to produce even the smallest of outbursts. Immanuel's skin suddenly blackened, as if burnt, but much smoother and uniform. His hair disappeared entirely, replaced by small dark studs, and his eyes became as red as blood. His nose shrank, his lips all but disappeared , and within seconds a nightmarish monster was sitting before the Prime Minister.

"A simple perception filter fools all. We are the Demons of the Run, and you are _ours_..."

Immanuel raised his hand, revealing long, blackened fingers encrusted with rings, towards the Prime Minister, who suddenly felt very lightheaded. The world went in and out of focus around him, until everything went black and-

"It is done..." uttered Immanuel simply, "His mind belongs to us..."

"Shall we...reshuffle then?" said Eyauoiea gleefully.

"Yes, I think so. Daniel Carlton..." voiced Immanuel, still gesturing at the Prime Minister, "You will resign as Prime Minister at once, and you will name _me _as your successor. Your last act as Prime Minister will be to declare the new Cabinet according to the file I gave you. You will then keep a low profile. Do you understand?"

The Prime Minister nodded, his eyes blank.

"Good..."

"Ooh, he's been perfectly subjugated, nice bit of magic there Dtstraie..."

"I thought influencing him would be enough. I thought he would follow my instruction to reshuffle the Cabinet, but he resisted. Full control was necessary..."

"Do we really need this now, though?" asked Aiyoe. "What has changed? What have the others discovered?"

"Suliass'gh and Diazsay found Blakeworthy's architectural plans below the Bose-Carbora monastery. We have appropriated all the London ones. The monastery indeed had its secrets. We are now one step closer..."

"But now we have the might of the British government at our hands..." squealed Eyauoiea gleefully, "All the military, all the soldiers, ours to control..."

"And, more importantly, if that interfering Time Lord ever comes to inhibit us, we will have the ultimate way to prevent him getting involved..." said Dtstraie.

"Maybe we should have done this years ago..."

"There would have been no point. Only now, where we are a mere stepping stone from finding her, should we start building our resources for the attack..."

"But do we have our next lead?" asked Eyauoiea.

"Oh yes. The architectural plans should narrow down her location even further..."

He stepped closer to the window, his human form slowly returning. Outside, he saw an overcast London, rain pattering against the window pane, flashes of lightning emanating in the distance.

"You're out there somewhere..." he whispered, "Hiding from us for centuries...but you better start counting your days, darling. They're numbered..."

* * *

**Yes, I added in parts of the Sherlock fandom, but these are for potential sequels to GOTW. They wont be addressed in this story. ;) **


	7. The Ignorant Guard

"Um, hello everyone...very, very sorry for intruding, but I think we're in the wrong place-"

"_STUPEFY_!" yelled all the Aurors simultaneously. The man ducked, pulling the woman down with him, and the stunning spells hit the blue box instead. It made an almighty screeching noise, and the bright light returned. A few seconds later, the box had disappeared, but the man and the woman remained crouched on the floor, shocked. The Aurors charged forwards.

"No, no, HADS activated! I really should have deactivated that when I had the chance...but what the _hell_ did you just attack us with?"

The Aurors encircled the pair, who slowly stood up, hands raised.

"Now, please, gentlemen, let's be reasonable..." pleaded the man, "We come in peace..."

"Restrain them both!" ordered Denzel. "Now!"

Harry rugby tackled the man, whilst Ron and James pinned down the woman.

"Oi, get the hell of me!" screeched the woman. "Doctor, do something!"

"That hurt you know..." moaned the man, as Harry put him into a fell Nelson, "Oi, gentle! I bruise easily you know..."

"Take them down to the confinement cells..." said Denzel, "I'll work on crowd control..."

"Fellas, this is all one big misunderstanding!" uttered the man, as Harry started to drag him to the nearest free elevator, whilst Ron and Jonah took care of the woman. "Please, can't we just sort this out over a cup of tea, or something? This is all totally unnecessary..."

"_Take a look outside_, he said, _there's no better way to find out_, he said..." berated the woman, fighting every attempt made by Ron and Jonah to restrain her.

"Stop squirming..." shot Jonah, as the woman tried to escape his arms again.

"Well the scanner wasn't working, remember?! But something must have gone wrong, this surely can't be the right place...can it?" considered the man.

"Quiet, the pair of you..." castigated Ron, as the elevator thundered in motion, "You are both under arrest for two accounts of trespassing in the Ministry. Do not attempt to escape arrest or you will be stunned..."

"Eh, _two_ accounts? I only just got here, what are you talking about? And which Ministry? Look, I know the Prime Minister, we're badminton buddies. If you could contact him, I'm sure we could get this whole thing straightened out..."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look of confusion. The _Prime_ Minister? Was this man...a Muggle? It made a little bit of sense; after all, the police box was, presumably, a Muggle object. But how on Earth would a mere Muggle break through the Ministry defences, when it would have been an arduous struggle even for the most advanced of wizards?

"Where...where do you even think you are?" asked Harry curiously.

"Well you said 'Ministry'..." said the man, "Is it the Ministry of Defence? It would certainly explain your unfriendly and frankly aggressive dispositions..."

"Like I said, you're under arrest for trespassing, bowtie..." said Ron angrily, "Arrests aren't generally a pleasant thing..."

The elevator came to a screechy stop.

"_Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including Auror Office and containment cells_..." rang the elevator prompt.

"What did that say? Did it say..._magical_?" asked the female incredulously. She and the man exchanged a look of surprise.

"Ok...maybe we're _not _in the wrong place then..." suggested the man, "Curious..."

"Keep moving..." commanded Harry. The three Aurors directed the two mysterious felons through the outer offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, attracting the curiosity and attention of the many office workers and law enforcers.

"Hey, Potter. What's with these two, then? Look like a right pair of oddballs..." commented a co-worker whose name Harry couldn't quite remember, as they passed the kitchenette.

"Oi, who are you calling oddballs?" snapped the woman. "You all look three hundred years out of date..."

"Intruders..." replied Harry simply, "You'll hear about it soon enough..."

"This sure is one elaborate hiding place, then..." commented the man as they entered the Auror Office, "This must be a massive complex, all to seal her away from her enemies, marvellously done. And all these witches and wizards! Wow, the transitimisation was highly effective!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" demanded Jonah.

"_Merlin_? Yup, they're wizards all right..." stated the woman.

So...they _were_ magical, then...right? Harry was deeply confused.

They entered the containment cells. Harry regarded, with a feeling of satisfaction and amusement, the tragic sight of Rita Skeeter sitting disdainfully in one of the cells. She looked up as they filtered inside, and shone a stomach-churning golden smile in Harry's direction

"Morning, Harry..." she purred, "Nice to see you..."

"Can't say the feeling's mutual..." retorted Harry. He opened one of the free cells, and directed the man and woman inside.

"What's all this then? Three arrests in the space of twenty minutes? You Aurors sure are overzealous..."

"Quiet, Skeeter..." shot Ron. She smirked at him.

"You will remain in here for the time being..." stated Harry to the man and woman, slamming the door shut, "You will be questioned momentarily..."

"Mind if I ask some questions of my own? I need to piece together this whole thing..." asked the man, innocently enough.

Harry said nothing, still considering the true nature of this strange man, before turning to Ron.

"You remember what I said earlier? I said, I _knew _there was more to that blue box, and I was right. There's something strange about these two..." whispered Harry.

"What do we do? Standard interrogation?" asked Ron.

"I suppose. But I certainly don't want Skeeter listening in..."

"Fair enough. Jonah, could you escort Skeeter out of the building?"

"Oh, am I finally being let out? Marvellous, this place is horrifically dingy..."

"You were only in there for about fifteen minutes..." pointed out Ron, "Don't be such a baby..."

Jonah unlocked Skeeter's cell door.

"Thank you, darling. See you soon, Harry..." said Skeeter, winking as Jonah escorted her from the cells.

"She makes my skin crawl..."

"She makes everyone's skin crawl, she's Rita Skeeter; it's in her nature..."

As Harry and Ron continued their whispered discussion, the Doctor and Clara, now stuck in the cell, also struck up a fervent conversation in undertones.

"Well, it looks like you were right..." stated Clara simply.

"About what?" asked the Doctor curiously.

"We _did_ end up being imprisoned by witches, just not the ones we expected..."

"Ah yes. Still, it'll all be sorted out in no time, don't you worry..."

"So...who are these people, precisely? Are they the witches and wizards created by the Queen's transitim-whatever?"

"Yes, almost certainly. Like I said, this must be the hiding place of the Queen and the Hasrion Pendant. We followed the Receptacle, after all, and time itself seemed pretty keen to whisk us here as well. These must be her guards, created to protect her, just like Cephenrene said..."

"I thought the TARDIS was supposed to bring us _straight_ to her?"

"There's probably some added protection directly around her. The TARDIS couldn't break through it directly..."

"Speaking of the TARDIS, what exactly happened to it?"

"The same thing that happened when we were on that Russian submarine. The Hostile Action Displacement System activated when we were attacked. Sent her away...although, with all that interference, she couldn't have gone far..."

"So, what's your plan to get us out of here? You must have one by now..."

"Well, it's simple, isn't it? They're her guards. I'll just say I was sent by the White Witches of Crixsos Delta Three, and they'll understand that I'm their ally. We can then arrange for her safe return to Crixsos..."

"Yeah, simple...providing they actually trust you. After all, you just broke into her hiding place, not exactly the greatest of starts..."

"Oh, I've got one of those faces people can't help but trust. Cephenrene did, remember? I'll simply explain everything, and this misunderstanding will be rectified..."

Just then, another man entered the room, and the two other wizards stopped talking at once. The Doctor recognised the man as the one who had ordered their incarceration.

"Everything calmed down up there, Denzel?" asked one of the two wizards, with ginger hair.

"Mostly. We're labelling it as a Department of Mysteries experiment gone wrong..."

"Sounds real convincing..." said the other wizard, the one with black hair.

"Well, it's good enough. Now, to business..." uttered the man called Denzel, approaching the cell bars.

"Yes quite..." proclaimed the Doctor eagerly. Denzel shot him a look of apprehensive curiosity.

"Basics first. Who are you?" asked Denzel simply, the other two wizards flanking either side of him.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is Clara..." stated the Doctor honestly.

"Clara...the blue box mentioned that name..." murmured Harry, but it seemed he wasn't heard.

"_The Doctor_? You can't just be called 'the Doctor'. Doctor _who_?" asked Ron.

"Ah, that question, when will it stop being asked? I suppose not until the fields of Tr-" he said pensively, but broke off. Clara regarded him with fascination. "Uh, I'm just the Doctor. That's it. Nothing else..."

"Right..."

"So, who are you?" asked the Doctor, smiling pleasantly.

The three paused again.

"This is an interrogation, not a group discussion..." lambasted Denzel, "We'll ask the questions here. But, surely, you must recognise the Crixsom Benign here..." he uttered, pointing at the black haired wizard, who then proceeded to roll his eyes,

"Never seen him before in my life..." stated the Doctor, "Why should I?"

Denzel raised his eyebrows.

"Hmm...'Crixsom Benign' sounds a bit like 'Crixsos', doesn't it Doctor?" pointed out Clara.

"Ah yes, very astute Clara, must be a derivation of vocabulary from the White Witches..." said the Doctor. Now that he mentioned it, didn't 'Crixsos' translate to something, as did 'Crixsom', in the ancient language of the White Witches?

"What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Denzel.

"It's all right, I'm here to help. I'm here to retrieve the Queen from this location..." pressed the Doctor.

The three wizards stared at him in silence.

"What Queen?"

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I've been tasked by some of the White Witches of Crixsos Delta Three to recover the Queen and bring her back there..." said the Doctor, smiling encouragingly, "We're on the same side! Just show me where she is, and your job will be done..."

The interrogators shared a look of complete incredulity.

"He's lost it..." said the ginger haired wizard, "Utterly bonkers..."

"We may need some mental health practitioners from St. Mungo's..." suggested the black haired wizard.

"You _must_ know her, she made you to protect her..." implored the Doctor, his grin fading.

"What do you mean she _made_ us? What are you talking about?"

The Doctor regarded the complete bewilderment in their eyes, and realised they truly had no idea who the Queen was. But how was that possible? She created them to protect her, according to Cephenrene, how could they not know who she was? Unless...over the four thousand years, they had spread out enough to forget their own purpose. But that would mean the Queen wasn't hidden in the 'Ministry' after all. The Doctor felt both of his hearts sink.

"My goodness, you don't know where she is at all, do you? You've never even heard of her. You lot must have broken off, become your own separate civilisation, forgetting all about her..."

The wizards looked at each other again.

"Haven't you ever wondered how you acquired your abilities? Have you no concept of your own genesis?"

"Well, no..." murmured Harry. "It's sort of always been there..."

"Don't respond to him, Potter..." reprimanded Denzel.

"No, it hasn't always been there..." stated the Doctor, ignoring Denzel, "It came about approximately four thousand years..."

The Doctor put his face in his hands, thinking ferociously, trying to make sense of it all.

"So...where is the Queen?" asked Clara concernedly.

"Not here. But then why did the Receptacle take us straight here...unless, it was confused by the amount of people in this one building, all sharing the same psionic life force as the Queen, I suppose..."

"Then where is she?"

"She could be anywhere in the world. But...logically, I thought she would be _here_..." he uttered, facing the wizards, "Your reactions when we arrived, you lot _attacked us_. I figured that would be the natural reaction of the Queen's guard to any intruders..."

"I do not know what nonsense you speak of, but we attacked and arrested you two for the simple reason that you were both intruding. These are tense and precarious times, and we did not take the two appearances of your bizarre blue box lightly..."

"What do you mean _two?_ This is the first time I've ever come here..."

"That is a clear lie. Earlier this morning, the exact same blue box appeared in the Atrium. Nothing came out of it, but we sealed it off, and sent it away to the Department of Mysteries at once..."

"Ah...that would be the end result of HADS then..." explained the Doctor, "The interference in this building must have forced her to travel through time as opposed to space. She must have shifted several hours back in time..."

"What? You're not making _any _sense..." snapped the ginger haired wizard.

"Excuse me, I'm making total sense, you're just not keeping up. The blue box you saw earlier in the morning is the exact same blue box as the one you saw moments ago, but later in its relative time steam. When you so brazenly attacked it, it jumped back in time to the early hours of this morning..."

"What - how..._time travel_?"

"Yes, time travel, I'm a time traveller..."

"No way, only with time turners-"

"Enough!" said Denzel, finally. "This interrogation is going astray. None of what you have said, Doctor, makes _any_ sense in _any_ context..."

"That doesn't mean it's not true!"

"Regardless. We don't take anything lightly in this climate..."

"What climate?"

Yet again, the interrogators turned to look at each in amazement.

"The post-Voldemort climate..." uttered Ron, "How...how can you possibly not know that? You have to be a Muggle..."

"It's certainly a possibility...he's called 'Doctor' after all..." surmised Harry.

"What's a Muggle?" asked the Doctor.

"Non magical people..." replied Harry.

"Well, 'magical' ability is technically relative. Every human should have some psionic manipulation ability, but some more than others due to differences-"

"Leave it, for once, Doctor..." murmured Clara, nudging him in the ribs.

"All right, fine...so, who was this 'Voldemort' then?" asked the Doctor.

The black haired wizard looked at him enquiringly.

"If you are a Muggle, which you appear to be, it doesn't matter..." said Denzel curtly, "I'm ending this interrogation here, but it will recommence later. I'll get Ruddleford down here to verify your nature; the laws are different if Muggles are being interrogated, and Obliviators will be necessary. Harry, Ron, seal the room..."

"Yes, sir..." they said in unison.

"I'll get your promotions approved. In the meantime, you can pick up your new uniforms from the recreation room..." he finished, and brusquely left the room.

"So, Harry, Ron. Nice to know your names at last..." said the Doctor, rather cheerfully, "It's good to be on a first name basis, don't you think?"

"_You_ can talk, Doctorof no name..." said Harry. They then left the containment cell room, and sealed the door behind them.

"So now what? Do we have an escape plan?" asked Clara.

"Kind of. I could use the screwdriver to open these cell doors, and get back into the main complex, but-"

"We'd be rearrested in seconds, Doctor!"

"Yes, well I didn't say it was a very good escape plan, did I? However, we must find the TARDIS, somehow, to get out of this 'Ministry' and continue our search. But this place is huge, we would almost certainly end up getting lost..."

"They could help us, you know..."

"They would find it difficult to believe me, especially seeing as it justifies their entire existence for the sole purpose of being guards, a purpose they seem to have forgotten. I could _show _them, I suppose. Time Lords can share their memories with others through psychic connections, and they'd see I'm telling the truth, but there's too many of them here. I'd be exhausted after a few..."

"Right, fair enough. So we need to get out of this place...wherever this place is. How can they hide all this in London?"

"It's very easy to hide something in London, Clara. There was once an organisation which retrieved alien artefacts, hidden in Canary Wharf! This place, however, is probably underground, judging by the lack of windows..."

"But if the Queen isn't here, what's the point of this place?"

"Well, it's a Ministry. They called it that. A Ministry that must manage magic, for magical people..."

"Not funded by the _Muggle _tax payers then, I presume..." said Clara, "Frankly, the term 'Muggle' almost sounds derogatory..."

"Well, the human race does have a rather deplorable propensity to shun anything that is different..."

"But why did the transitimi-wotsit only affect _some _people? Why aren't we all wizards?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's genetically focused, maybe it was random. But, the fact of the matter is that wizards exist on planet Earth. I just can't believe I've never noticed them until now. They must be incredibly secretive...but not because they were hiding an ancient alien monarch, apparently. I wonder why, then, they're so enigmatic..."

"Well, it's like you said, I suppose," suggested Clara, "The human race _does_ tend to shun anything that is different, and what can be more different than a wizard?"

* * *

"Strange pair, aren't they?" asked Ron, trying on his new uniform a few hours later, in the Auror recreation room, "Oh yeah, that looks cool..."

"Very strange. But they're not Walpurgis, that's for sure..."

"Why not?"

"Because he said Voldemort's name openly. Walpurgis treat that name like a sacrament, just like the Death Eaters used to; they would never amount to what they would consider blasphemy. Plus, as I said earlier, there aren't any females in Walpurgis..."

"Oh yeah, that's true. Well, regardless, they both appear to be quite pleasant people. But they're likely Muggles..."

"Yes, I suppose they would have to be. Still, there's something about that Doctor which is very-"

"-Mad?-"

"Well, yes, that, but he's quite...likeable, I suppose..."

"Likeable?"

"Yeah. It's hard to describe, but there's certainly something very interesting about him, it's like a weird feeling...it's like I know him from _somewhere_, but I know I've never met him before..."

"I think...I know what you mean..."

At that moment, Jonah rejoined them, looking thoroughly hassled.

"Hey, Jonah, you've been gone for hours! What happened? Did Skeeter give you a hard time?" quipped Ron.

"Shut up Ron. It's not Skeeter. It's just a bit hectic up there..." said Jonah, simply.

"Why? Did that blue box reappear again?" asked Harry, suddenly alert. "We haven't heard anything down here..."

"No, this is a political thing. The Muggle Prime Minister has stood down. We've got diplomats swarming in from all over the place. I was pushed into helping them..."

"So he resigned, what's the big deal?"

"Well, apparently, the Prime Minister gave a message to the liaison portrait shortly before his resignation. Rumour has it that the Prime Minister wished to speak to Kingsley about some explosion at a church, or something, in the Muggle world. Shortly afterwards, he resigned. That doesn't quite add up..."

"Who replaced him?" asked Harry.

"Some guy called Immanuel Aldeborne..." said Jonah, passing Harry a newspaper, "This is an advanced copy of tonight's _Evening_ _Prophet_. Aldeborne is, apparently, a Conservative MP, eligible for the position of Prime Minister, but it all seems a bit sudden and unnatural, and the diplomats are concerned about that. They're always scared about first contact, when the Minister introduces himself for the first time. It can go many ways, and maintaining overall secrecy is paramount..."

The _Evening Prophet_ had dedicated half of the front page to a photograph of the new Prime Minister, who was smiling distantly, surrounded by other politicians.

"So when's first contact going to happen?" asked Ron.

"Dunno. Few days, maybe. They don't have to do it immediately, but it should hopefully be standard procedure. It's probably just an overreaction. Anyway, how was the interrogation of those two weirdos?"

"Well, we think they're Muggles. Denzel wants James to check that, though; he's good at that sort of stuff..."

"If they're Muggles, how the heck could they do those tricks with the blue box?"

"I dunno. Maybe they were just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it seemed like they were on some kind of mission, to find a Queen, or something..."

"A Queen? What? That doesn't make any sense..."

"_Nothing_ they said made any sense, to be honest..."

"Mad as a hatter, that man...'the Doctor' he calls himself..." added Ron.

"Well, there'll be another interrogation later, and they'll probably be Obliviated after that..." finished Harry.

"Fair enough..."

"Ah, Harry, Ron, there you are..." came a voice from the other side of the Room. James was standing by the door, wearing his Healer uniform.

"Hey James. Have you come straight from St. Mungo's?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. Denzel said he needed me to come here as soon as possible, to verify if someone is a Muggle..."

"Ah yes, that would be the culprits behind our case seventeen. They're in the containment cells. I'll take you straight to them..."

* * *

Meanwhile, the Doctor and Clara were sitting dolefully in their containment cell, where time had stretched itself to unfathomable lengths of monotony. The Doctor had been sonic-ing the environment for several minutes, trying to work out his next lead in the search for the Queen, presuming they ever made it out of the cell.

"What are you doing?" asked Clara.

"Searching for clues. Strange life signs. Psionic anomalies. Anything!"

"And?"

"Nothing. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, which is weird, as everything seems out of the ordinary in this building..."

"Oh, watch out, the door's opening..." pointed out Clara, as the lock on the main door squeakily released. Four wizards subsequently filed into the Room. The Doctor recognised Harry and Ron from before, the former carrying a newspaper of sorts, and recognised the third one from their earlier arrest, but the fourth one, dressed in a sort of sterile uniform, was new.

"_These _are the case seventeen culprits?" asked the new wizard, incredulously. "They look harmless enough..."

"Yup, that's me to a tee..." said the Doctor, "And what's your name?"

"I suppose name's don't matter, seeing as you're likely to be Obliviated later. My name is James Ruddleford. I'm here to evaluate you..."

"Ooh, steady on, we've only just met..." said the Doctor, with a smirk, which James didn't return.

"Smiling in the face of incarceration. Your psychological status is questionable..." commented James, "You may have been right about that, Ron..."

"Apparently being amiable is considered a possible symptom of madness..." uttered the Doctor, rolling his eyes, "Great to know you wizards have a brilliant comprehension of psychological maladies..."

James narrowed his eyes.

"Anyway, back to why I'm here. I can perform a simple test. See if you're a wizard or not..."

"Oh? And that is? I hope it's pleasant..."

James raised a long wooden stick at the Doctor. Clara recognised it as being similar to the ones used by Cephenrene and Idelana on Crixsos.

"What's that?" asked the Doctor curiously.

"A wand, of course..." said James.

"Ah, that makes a lot of contextual and physical sense..." surmised the Doctor, "A channelling method for the psionic energy-"

"_Anatomia Revelio_!"

There was a flash of sudden red light, along with what felt like a cool gust of wind, but their hair and clothes remained totally unstirred. A few seconds later, the light had vanished, and the Doctor regarded James, studying his wand, looking perplexed.

"What is it, James?" asked Ron.

"The female is certainly Muggle-"

"-Oi, this female has a name-"

"-but...the man is...I have no idea..."

"What do you mean, no idea?"

"He is neither Muggle nor wizard..."

"Those two categories are kind of mutually exhaustive, James. Something must have gone wrong..."

"Yes, quite. There must be something faulty with my wand. I may need to use another...do you have a supply of backup wands in this department?"

"Yeah, in the resource cupboards. Show him, won't you Jonah?" asked Harry. "I think you two need to improve your relationship..."

"Fine, fine..." said Jonah, smirking, "Come on Ruddells..."

"Don't call me that, Reeds..."

James and the wizard named Jonah left the cells, the door sealing behind them.

"Neither a Muggle nor a wizard? Ridiculous..." said Harry, lifting the newspaper he was carrying to his face.

It was right then the Doctor went very cold, very suddenly. There were very few times anything could make him feel like that. The last time was when he had realized Professor Yana was the Master...but this..._this_ was much, much worse. Harry had raised the newspaper, revealing the front cover, where a photograph of a man was pictured. For a few, very brief milliseconds, the picture was just that - a man, a perfectly ordinary man. But then the picture bled away, revealing what the Doctor could only describe as something very not-human, a monster in fact, a monster with blackened skin, a deformed face, and long, claw like fingers. And, to alarm him the most, the photograph was emblazoned with a most disturbing caption:

_New Muggle Prime Minister_

"My goodness..." whispered the Doctor feebly, "They're here already..."

"Doctor...what is it?" asked Clara concernedly.

"The Demons of the Run are here. I recognise that Carrionite resemblance any day..."

"What are you talking about? Where are you getting this from?"

"That newspaper..." said the Doctor, gesturing towards Harry, "The front page..."

"W-what about it? There's nothing special...oh wow!"

"Do you see it?"

"Well I see we've got a new Prime Minister, that's a bit sudden. Still, I never liked Carlton. Bit of an idiot, to be honest..."

"You...you don't see it?" asked the Doctor. "Of course, there must be a perception filter, shielding his true form. Less psychically aware species will be vulnerable to it, but I'm certainly used to all kinds of psychic filters and could see straight through it..."

"What true form?"

"The new Prime Minister is unmistakably a Demon of the Run...and that is...well, that is a rather frightening concept..."

"I'm not seeing anything unusual..."

"Ok, ok, look harder. Perception filters can be broken if attention is drawn to the real image by someone who can truly see it..."

Clara gazed determinedly at the newspaper cover.

"I still don't see anything..."

"Ok, I'm enhancing your psychic abilities temporally..." said the Doctor, placing his hands delicately on Clara's temples, "Ok, now, look again!"

"It's still the same photo-oh _holy crap_!" she squealed, covering her mouth with her hands. "It changed! Is that...is that a _Demon_? They look _disgusting_..."

"That's one all right. They're here, just as Cephenrene predicted they might, using perception filters to take on human form. But somehow they're in a position of power, and that means we may have less time than we thought..."

"What are you two going on about now?" chastised Harry.

"Harry, look at the front cover of that newspaper..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just look..."

He did so.

"New Muggle Prime Minister. What about it?"

"Look at it again. And look exactly where you don't want to look, that very corner of your eye, the exact tipping point of the whole perception filter. The White Witches on Crixsos had some degree of psychic and perceptive ability, Cephenrene certainly did, and so that ability should have passed onto you... but you still have to concentrate to utilise it..."

"What are you-" he began, but broke off, suddenly horrified just as Clara had been. "Oh my God...it changed! What the hell is _that_? How did you even do that to me? Is this a mind trick or something?"

"No, it's your own mind overriding the perception filter, led by my suggestions. The post of Prime Minister is now occupied by a monster, and that could mean disaster for your people..."

"Harry, what is he talking about? I can't see anything wrong with the - _holy crap, _what the_ ever loving shit is that thing?_" exclaimed Ron, suddenly fearful.

"See, he's broken it as well, it's not a trick..."

"Why the hell does it mean disaster for us?"

"Because that monster is a Demon, and he is going to hate anything connected to the Queen, any witch, any wizard..."

"You're talking about this Queen _again_..." snapped Ron, still not breaking eye contact with the picture, disturbed, "_What _Queen?"

"The Queen of the White Witches. She is the reason for your abilities, and she's at risk. I need to find her before that monster does..."

"Why should we believe you?" asked Harry.

"Come here, and I'll show you..."

"No way. I have no reason to trust you..."

"Yes, you do, and you know it. You can sense that I am someone to trust, just like Cephenrene did. As you've shown, you witches and wizards have fairly developed psychic abilities, and you can perceive things ordinary people can't. You have already sensed that I am trustworthy..."

"Who...who is this Cephenrene you keep mentioning?" asked Harry.

"Let me show you. Trust me. I'm the Doctor..."

Harry edged forwards towards the bars.

"How will you show me?"

"Information transfer..." said the Doctor. He reached between the bars, and placed his hands gently on Harry's temples, just as he had done to Clara. "By psychic connection. Relax, and close your eyes..."

Harry did so, albeit apprehensively.

"This doesn't look weird at all..." coughed Ron.

"Bloody hell..." remarked Harry, suddenly, "How are you doing this? I can see into your mind..."

"Just relax..."

A few seconds later, the Doctor dropped his hands, and Harry opened his eyes, amazed.

"Harry...are you alright?" asked Ron concernedly.

"What he said is true, Ron...he showed me his memories...it was just like a trip into Dumbledore's pensieve..." stated Harry, "We _are_ in danger..."

"What, how?"

"Doctor, can you show him too? It's hard to explain what you've just shown me..."

"Harry, you can't expect me to-" interjected Ron.

"Trust me, Ron..."

Ron regarded Harry curiously.

"Ok, then, fine..." said Ron. The Doctor did the exact same thing to Ron, filling his mind with the relevant memories and the significance of the Demons.

"Well, I'll be buggered..." said Ron, a few seconds later, "You actually were telling the truth..."

"Now, will you two help me in saving her? You know what's at stake..."

"Why us?"

"Because you were here right at this moment, that's why. And you seem a lot more cordial than that Denzel..."

"Harry?" asked Ron, "S-should we?"

"I suppose we have to..." said Harry. Ron nodded.

"Great! Now, we must get to the TARDIS at once...the blue box, wherever you put it. We need to get moving, we don't know how much time we have..."

"But surely we could justify this to the Auror department?" said Ron, "You should show them like you showed us..."

"It's difficult enough to show two people, let alone a whole department! There isn't enough time! Who knows how close the Demons are to finding her?"

"Yes, yes...of course..." said Harry, unlocking the main doors to the cell.

"What on Earth did you show them which made them so willing to help us?" demanded Clara in a whisper as the wizards fumbled with the door.

"The truth. I didn't just show them my memories, but their potential future. You remember how the White Witches were dependent on the Queen? If she died, they would all perish?"

"Yeah..."

"The same applies here. They are the products of her transitimisation. If she dies, and she's certainly at risk of that-", he paused, to straighten his bowtie, as he often did prior to moments of anxiety, "-Every single witch and wizard on Crixsos _and_ Earth will die..."


	8. The Ancient Genesis

**Chapter 8: The Ancient Genesis**

"I can't believe we're doing this. We're going to be in _so_ much shit..." moaned Ron, as he opened the cell doors.

"I'm sure they'll thank you later! You'll probably receive honours and orders of chivalry..." pressed the Doctor, leaping out of the cell.

"I certainly hope not," confessed Harry, pushing the newspaper into his uniform pocket, "I'm already trying to lose the honour I already have..."

"You've got an honour?" asked Clara, curiously. "What for?"

"I have a Crixsom Benign award, as Denzel mentioned. It's...er, it's a long story..."

"Harry! Here we are about to break two culprits out of Auror custody, for reasons that will be very difficult to justify, and all you want to do is _chat_?"

"He's right. We need to get a sincere move on..." said the Doctor hurriedly.

"No, no, you wait one second, Doctor..." prompted Ron, "Outside that door are about one hundred trained and ready Aurors capable of nailing your arse into the ground in seconds. You _do not_ want to rush this, believe me..."

"Ok, so what do you suggest, then?"

"We follow Auror protocol. So, that means we do _this_..." said Ron, and pretended to restrain the Doctor by locking his arms behind his back.

"Ouch! Be gentle!"

"Well it's gotta look _convincing_, so _act normally_. I know that may be difficult for you, but Aurors can smell trickery like a shark can smell blood. We'll pretend that we're transferring you somewhere else. Understand?"

" I understand..." said the Doctor, as Harry 'restrained' Clara, "Just act like brutes! I know that won't be difficult for _you two_, goodness..."

"Ready, Harry?" asked Ron, ignoring the Doctor.

"Yes, I suppose I am ready to break about fifty Ministerial laws..."

"Never stopped us at Hogwarts..."

"That's true. Well then. Let's do this..."

The four of them left the containment cells at a slow and steady pace, and into the Auror Office beyond. For the first few minutes, their path was clear, but obstacles inevitably rose up.

"Hey, Harry, Ron! Congrats on the promotion..." said a senior Auror, standing by a vending machine as they turned a corner. "Who are these two?" he then asked, more seriously. Harry gave a sigh of relief - this senior somehow hadn't heard of the case seventeen.

"No one important. Just a routine transfer, nothing serious..." lied Ron.

"Where are you taking them?" he enquired.

"St Mungo's mental health infirmary, under our watchful guidance..." made up Harry, on the spot.

"Oh...well, he does look a tad...unbalanced, I suppose..." commented the senior Auror disdainfully, regarding the Doctor.

"And I'm standing right here..." murmured the Doctor.

"_Quiet_!" said Ron, feigning ferocity.

"Carry on..." finished the senior Auror, who then departed.

"Seriously, is it the clothes or something?" asked the Doctor in a hushed whisper.

"Well they are a tad..._purple_. Not to mention the bowtie, which doesn't help..." replied Harry.

"Bowties are cool! Not weird!"

"Can we have this discussion later, please? We're passing by the resource cupboard. That's where Jonah and James are, and if they see us with you two, they'll _know _something's up..." shot Ron.

They slowly traversed by a semi-open door, where a heated conversation could be heard inside.

"-just pick a damn wand, already, won't you Ruddells?"

"It _has _to feel right, that's the convention for any wand..."

"Are you sure you just didn't perform the spell correctly?"

"I'm not like _you _Jonah. I don't make mistakes..."

"I don't make mistakes, what are you-"

"Need I mention the Glastonbury incident?"

"Shut up, it was a one off-"

"How could you mistake an ordinary tattoo for a _Dark Mark_?"

"They looked similar!"

"It was a tattoo of _a rabbit_-"

Harry rolled his eyes as they left the supply cupboards behind them.

"They can never get along, can they?" whispered Harry.

"Not in a million years. Anyway, we've made it out of the Auror Office, so we can relax, for now..." said Ron, as they reached the elevator terminal. They all mooched into the nearest free elevator.

"Right, Department of Mysteries..." said Harry, inputting the location into the elevator prompt, "That's where we took your blue box..."

"What, _you_ moved it there?"

"Well, we were assigned to move it!"

"What for?"

"Well we couldn't just leave it in the Atrium, could we? Denzel wanted to put it in for testing. One of the staff down there did say they were going to tear it apart..."

"I'd like to see them try. The Fourth Great Dalek Empire couldn't get through those doors, and believe me, they've tried..."

"What's a _Dalek_?" asked Harry curiously, as the elevator trundled into motion.

"Imagine a very angry pepper pot..." started the Doctor.

"Ok..."

"Well, it's nothing - actually, it _is _quite like that...huh..."

"So, Doctor. We bring you to this TARDIS, and then what? How will you find this Queen? When you showed me your thoughts and memories, you neglected to show me anything about how you will actually _recover_ the Queen..."

"Well, that's because I didn't have a plan at the time..."

"Ok, so tell us now..."

"Um... still working on one, sorry. Don't worry though, I usually make it up as I go along..." he pressed.

"That's comforting..." uttered Harry incredulously, "We just broke you out of Auror custody, and you don't even know what to do next!"

"I'll think of something, I normally do..."

"It's true. He goes in blind, always come out on top..." added Clara.

"But you said...you _showed _us that our entire race is at risk because of these Demons, but you didn't show us _why _they wanted this Queen so much. Why do they want her dead?"

"I will explain that when we get back to the TARDIS..."

"Ok, well can I ask a personal question, then, Doctor?"

"Go ahead, Harry..."

"Well, another thing you didn't show me is...well, who _you _are, exactly..."

"_I_ struggle to get a decent answer out of him when it comes to that, and I've known him for quite a bit now..." commented Clara.

"So...are you two...together, then?" asked Harry innocently enough.

"No, no..." said the Doctor and Clara simultaneously. "We're just friends. We go travelling, occasionally saving the odd planet..."

"Planets?" asked Ron incredulously. "You mean, places other than Earth?"

"Not very astronomical, you wizards, are you?" commented the Doctor.

"No, we are, it's just Ron never paid much attention in Astronomy class..."

"Well, it was boring, it's not my fault..."

"Oh, you went to the same school?" asked the Doctor, "What school do wizards go to?"

"Everyone goes to the same school here. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." explained Harry.

"I don't think I've heard that one in the Ofsted results..."

"Well, it's hidden away, just like the entirety of our people..."

"Hidden away, but not because you were hiding the Queen..." considered the Doctor broodingly, "You lot must just be shy then..."

"Pretty much. Well, it's better this way, I suppose. But maintaining secrecy, especially in the last few years, has been difficult..."

"Yes, what exactly happened in the last few years? That Denzel mentioned that you were in tense and precarious times..."

"We're recovering from a war. A destructive, bloody war which shattered our people..." surmised Harry.

"A war? Against _who_?"

"It's a long story, I'd rather not go into details. Besides, I'm not sure you'll understand-"

"I'm no stranger to war, Harry. My past is full of terrible, terrible wars. One war in particular was...particularly devastating. And there's a war in my future, my far, far future, which looks even more destructive..."

"What war is that?" asked Clara, intrigued, "You've never mentioned this..."

"I don't know. It's prophesised, however, and enemies of mine have spoken of it..."

"_In this endless, bitter war_..." rang the words of Madame Kovarian in his head, "_Against you, Doctor_..."

"_Department of Mysteries..._" toned the elevator prompt suddenly, bringing the Doctor out of his reverie.

"Right, stay close, here comes the difficult part..." stated Ron.

"Why?"

"They put your TARDIS in a stasis chamber. It's like a massive safe. I'm not sure how we're going to break in, assuming we can overpower the staff down here first..."

"Oh, no need to fret..." said the Doctor with a smirk, patting his coat pocket, "I'm very good at opening doors..."

They walked down the dark, cold corridor, eventually reaching the laboratory door. They pressed their ears against the wood, and listened for any sign of human presence within...

"-what the hell is it made out of? Titanium alloy, or something?" they heard.

"No, mam, it's definitely wood. However, it doesn't resemble any wood I've ever seen..."

"Well, keep trying to pierce the external shell. It must give out soon..."

The sound of a drill then punctuated the air.

"They're drilling my TARDIS! How rude!" remarked the Doctor, in affronted amazement.

"I thought you said they wouldn't be able to break into it?" pointed out Ron.

"No, they won't. But still, give the old girl a break..."

"You speak as if she's alive..." stated Harry.

"Yes. Yes, I do, don't I?" smiled the Doctor. "Anyway, must retrieve her, we've got a lot to do!"

"Doctor, _what do you think you're doing_-"

The Doctor had bounded into the laboratory without another word.

"Hello everyone! I've come to reclaim some property, if you don't mind..." declared the Doctor, grinning. Harry, Ron and Clara stood behind him in the open doorway, on tenterhooks.

The TARDIS was still in the stasis chamber, but the door was now open, and Unspeakables with odd looking drills were operating inside. However, when the Doctor had so barefacedly entered, everybody in the laboratory stopped, and turned to look at him. Some even raised their wands.

"What do you think you're doing? This is a clandestine operation! Remove yourself at once, or I will call the Aurors!" said one of the Unspeakables, approaching the Doctor. Harry immediately recognised her as the odd Miss K from earlier.

"They're already here..." said the Doctor, gesturing behind him to where Harry and Ron awkwardly stood.

"P-Potter? What are you doing here? Who is this man?"

"He's...he's the owner of the blue box..." muttered Harry quietly. Miss K looked surprised for a moment, but soon recomposed herself.

"Be that as it may, it is my instruction to analyse it. It is a potentially dangerous object, after all..." said Miss K, "Besides, shouldn't this man be arrested? I thought this was a case seventeen?"

"This man has been vindicated due to other pressing matters..." averred Harry, "And the blue box is not dangerous, Miss K..."

"That I remain to see. Kindly remove yourselves..."

"Listen, Miss K...interesting name you've got there, by the way..." murmured the Doctor, as Miss K looked on with poise, "The future of your entire wizarding race is in jeopardy. Now, will you kindly return my TARDIS, or will I have to take it by force?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"I would like to see you try..." she said venomously, "Now, seeing as the Aurors won't do anything, would you mind escorting this man out of the Department of Mysteries, Jefferson..." she finished, and an Unspeakable advanced towards the Doctor from the stasis chamber, wand drawn.

"Stay where you are..." said the Doctor, pulling out a small, long, metallic object from his coat pocket and raising it towards Miss K.

"What the hell is that?" demanded Miss K, "Is that a wand...made of metal?"

"In a way, I suppose it is..." commented the Doctor, "It's my sonic screwdriver..."

"Interesting, but irrelevant. Jefferson-"

"You see, my TARDIS over there is still recovering from the activation of HADS. A bit jumpy, if you will. Now, it doesn't take much to activate HADS when it's operating. A drill certainly won't, though. You could drill my TARDIS with a dwarf star alloy drill bit and the universe would collapse into entropy before you would even break the paintwork..." he monologued, Miss K looking on flabbergasted, "But, a sonic impulse would certainly trigger a reactivation of HADS, as it would be interpreted as a hostile action. But, you see, whenever HADS activates, it happens so quick and so unexpectedly that I cannot tell the TARDIS _where _to run off to, it just whisks off where it can. Except, right here, right now, seeing as...well, I'm about to _cause_ HADS to activate myself, and so I can give it a _very_ explicit destination in advance..."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about? Get out of my laboratory!"

"Don't worry..." said the Doctor, and his sonic screwdriver lit up, making a strange buzzing noise. The TARDIS lurched into sudden activity, a white light flooding the laboratory, temporarily blinding them all. "I'm already gone..."

Harry and Ron opened their eyes to see they were no longer in the laboratory...but inside a large, bluish metallic room with a hexagonal structure in the centre, adorned with what looked like Muggle technology. The room was incredibly bright, and there was a symphony of unfamiliar noises echoing against the walls. It was perhaps the strangest place Harry had ever seen.

"Where the _hell _are we?" demanded Ron, astounded.

"Welcome to the TARDIS..." proclaimed the Doctor, smiling, standing by the central hexagonal structure, "Time And Relative Dimension In Space. My time machine..."

"But...but...we were in Miss K's lab..." stammered Harry.

"We still are, technically. I just set the TARDIS to materialise around us when I activated HADS. The interference in the Ministry was not strong enough to prevent the short hop..."

"But...I thought the TARDIS was the blue box?"

"It is..."

"So, does that mean it's bigger-"

"-on the inside! Indeed! Amazing, isn't it?"

"Well, not really..."

"Hah?"

"I had a tent that was bigger on the inside, it's nothing special..."

"Oh, travelling with wizards, impossible to impress..." moaned the Doctor.

"Where did you get this thing from?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I've had it for a very long time now. I borrowed it from my own people..."

"Your _people_? What do you mean?"

"Well, in response to your earlier question, Harry, I'm the Doctor, I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous, I'm twelve hundred and thirty years old, and, quite simply, and I'm here to help you, your people, and the White Witches of Crixsos Delta Three. Now, we have a Queen to find!"

"But wait, Doctor, there's something else I've been meaning to ask you..." said Harry, "When we moved the blue box...there was a phone on the front that spoke words, in what I'm sure was _your _voice..."

"Eh?" asked the Doctor, confused.

"You were talking about the White Witches of Crixsos, if I recall correctly..."

"Hmm... curious. The TARDIS _is_ suffering from some temporal disturbance, as we were entering fixed time. That may have caused events and conversations inside the TARDIS to become displaced in time, being relayed to the nearest output device..."

"What do you mean by 'temporal disturbance'?"

"Time is very complicated, but for reasons most people don't understand. The best way I can describe is that it's like a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. The vast majority of time is in flux - it can be edited and altered a million times, but there exist small moments in history, tiny fundamental moments, which must always stay the same. We call them fixed points. Whatever happens today is so important, that time has literally made it 'read-only', if you will, and that can interfere with the systems of the TARDIS, like trying to steer a car on an icy road..."

"What does that all _mean_? What 'important' thing will happen?"

"I don't know, it hasn't happened yet, at least relative to us. However, it means that either something really good will happen, or something really bad. Either way, the implications will be vast..."

"The 'really bad' being that we all die, then?"

"Yes, so let's try our hardest to ensure that doesn't happen, shall we?"

"But what do we do?"

"Well, I think I know where to start..." said the Doctor, "Like I said, these plans just pop into my head..."

"What's the plan, then?" asked Clara.

"We retrace the Queen's footsteps. We need to return to the exact moment when the Queen arrived on Earth. That will be the best way to pinpoint where she is today..."

"How the hell do we do that?" asked Ron.

"We use the Receptacle, here on the console..." said the Doctor, pointing at the tiara like object.

"Oh yeah...you showed me this in your mind transfer thing..." stated Harry, "It was the Hasrion Pendant's...container, right?"

"Yes, and the Queen, apparently, never let go of it herself. Living creatures are just oozing with life energies and psionic signatures, which can be easily picked up by inanimate objects. It's why houses have ghosts, for example. The White Witches live for millions of years, so this Receptacle has had ample time to imbibe itself with the Queen's psionic signature, effectively meaning it is a very faint recording of her life..."

"But...you showed us that you used this Receptacle to find the Queen directly, but you ended up in the Ministry of Magic. Why?"

"Probably because all you witches and wizards, all clustered in one building and all sharing the same life signature as the Queen, confused it..."

"So, if the Receptacle holds an image, we can retrace it back?" asked Clara.

"Exactly. The day she crashed onto Earth would have been a very significant day for her, and so we can lock onto it, which is fortunate for us, really, as a precise space-time location is the only thing that can get round the monumental interference in this Ministry..."

The Doctor set to work around the console, fiddling with the wires on the Receptacle and regarding a screen positioned at eye level.

"It's very faint, but there is a very small blip corresponding to approximately 2000 BCE, but it's the only blip detectable, unfortunately. I'll just have the TARDIS refine an accurate space-time coordinate from it, won't be a tick..."

"Four thousand years ago..." murmured Harry, "Is it really possible to go _that _far back in time?"

"Of course! I could visit the dinosaurs if I wanted to! But I don't want to, I owe them money-"

"_What_?" asked Clara.

"Nothing..." pressed the Doctor.

"Blimey, imagine how many times we'd have to turn a time turner to go _that_ far back..." muttered Ron to Harry.

"Yeah, blimey..." agreed Harry.

"What's a time turner?" asked the Doctor interestedly.

"Oh, it's our personal method of time travel, not that's it heavily used..."

The Doctor suddenly looked very shocked.

"You have a means of time travel?" he demanded.

"Yes. It's not a very far reachingmeans, but it works..." explained Harry.

The Doctor walked over to the wizards, pondering them with a very surprised and inquisitive look on his face.

"The White Witches of Crixsos Delta Three couldn't discover time travel, even after billions of years of evolution. I suppose they deemed magic more imperative than science, but so must you lot. How could you develop time travel when they couldn't, and in such a small amount of time?"

"I dunno. I didn't invent time turners personally..." said Harry.

The Doctor still regarded them curiously.

"The products of the Queen's transitimisation, who have no knowledge of her, and with remarkable technical discoveries. It almost seems like you have progressed further, becoming something altogether new..."

"Well, didn't Cephenrene say that we had an excellent biology?" pointed out Clara, "That humans would be well suited to magic? We should expect these lot, then, to be highly capable, maybe even more so than the White Witches..."

"That, Clara Oswald, is very astute..." commented the Doctor, "And very true. Sometimes, if you combine the best of humanity with another mighty civilisation, the end result can be staggering, and greater than the sum of its components. Humans are so full of intuition, moments of genius, and an enviable ability to create ideas. With a dollop of humanity, something incredible can be born. I once had a friend who became half-human, half-Time Lord-" he began, but broke off, looking dismayed.

"Who was that, Doctor?" asked Clara concernedly.

"Nothing, I shouldn't have brought her up..." he muttered, just as a series of lights flashed up on the console, "Ah, the TARDIS has found the precise space-time coordinates...let's depart!"

He pulled a long black lever on the console, and the TARDIS shook into violent, loud motion.

"What the hell is happening?" queried Harry, almost losing his balance.

"We're travelling through space and time..." proclaimed the Doctor, "The TARDIS worked out the coordinates to be...the year 2033 BCE, in the country of... well, it looks like we're going to _Kenya_..."

"_Kenya_?" remarked Clara.

"That makes a little sense, I suppose..." commented Harry, "I remember learning in History of Magic that the African wizarding tribes were some of the oldest in the world..."

"Oh, intriguing, what else can you tell me about that?"

"That's...pretty much it. We didn't pay attention to much else. We weren't exactly model students..."

The TARDIS lurched one last time, before falling silent.

"Well, we've arrived..." proclaimed the Doctor.

"That easily?"

"Indeed..."

"That's remarkable! Four thousand years in a few seconds...that's amazing!" stated Harry.

"Ah, finally impressed you two. It wasn't as impossible as I thought it would be..."

"So, outside those doors is-"

"Ancient Kenya, 2033 BCE. I think it's a Thursday-"

"So...the Queen is right out there, right now?" asked Ron.

"Well, to be exact, we arrived a few minutes prior to her advent, but she's coming..."

"So, we can just collect her straight away? Great! Problem solved!"

"Don't be stupid! We can't do that!" berated the Doctor, "First off, remember the reason why you even exist is because of her transitimisation, and we don't know exactly _when _that will happen. Secondly, and more importantly, whatever is unfolding in March 2013 is fixed time, and almost certainly pivots around the Queen, so I would be breaking said fixed time by recovering her right here, right now!"

"What happens if you break fixed time?" asked Clara curiously.

"Depends on howpivotal the event is. Something like this, maybe the solar system will explode. Some fixed points though, if broken, can cause the end of the universe..."

"Right...let's not do any of that, then..." remarked Ron, "So why did you take us here, then?"

"Well, we're retracing her footsteps, remember? We'll discover where she landed, and make our deductions henceforth. Ultimately, though, she can only be recovered in 2013..."

The Doctor approached the TARDIS doors, and opened them slowly. Bright, warm light flooded the inside of the TARDIS. Harry, Ron and Clara filtered into the open doorway.

"Blimey, we've moved, we've _actually _moved...and we're really high up!" observed Ron. Harry saw that he was right. The TARDIS was hovering a few miles above golden sand dunes, stretching on for miles in all directions.

"We need to get a good view..." explained the Doctor.

"This is...incredible..." whispered Harry, amazed, "This is history..."

"Not just any history, but the start of yours..." pointed out the Doctor, "Here, in mere minutes, an alien Queen, sent her away from her home planet for the sake of her safety, will crash in the sands of the Chalbi Desert below us..." averred the Doctor, "This is your genesis..."

"So, will you answer my earlier question now? Why do the Demons want her dead?"

"Well, the White Witches and the Demons of the Run were enemies, and were at war. The Demons simply desired to kill the Queen, as it would kill all the Witches dependent on her. But it's a tad more personal now. You see, the Queen killed a lot of the Demons on her escape from Crixsos, and, naturally, the Demons will want to exact their revenge..."

"So they chased her here? When did they arrive?"

"That's certainly something I hope to find out..." muttered the Doctor, "Maybe not in this trip, but eventually..."

"Doctor - look! Is that her?!" burst out Clara suddenly, pointing into the distance. An incredibly bright flare had burst into existence high above them in the atmosphere, slowly emerging into a long trail, like a meteorite. It descended lower and lower, moving faster and faster through the air, screaming through the clouds like a firecracker. Seconds later, the object had impacted into the desert sands below them, creating an enormous eruption of sand and fire, and an almost deafening boom.

"Yes, that's almost certainly her..." confirmed the Doctor, "She's travelled thousands of light years in mere weeks. Weakened, and defenceless, but alive..."

They waited a few moments, regarding the smouldering crash site from above, in silence. And then, about five minutes after the impact, there was a sudden bright flash from the impact crater. A column of reddish mist shot straight up in the air and high into the atmosphere above them, dissipating and convulsing on the wind currents.

"Wow, she did that quickly! That was the transitimisation! High density psionic energy particles, spread across the whole world..." commentated the Doctor, "To build her own guard. The genesis of the wizards..."

"We all came from _that_?" remarked Harry, "A puff of red mist? Is that _it_?"

"Origin stories are hardly extraordinary, Harry. But in this one defining second, wizardkind was born on Earth..."

"Why didn't everybody in the world turn into wizards, then?" asked Ron.

"Previously I thought it was genetic, or just plain random, but, after considerations..." contemplated the Doctor, "I suppose if you make everyone on Earth a wizard, it's a bit of giveaway to any Demons that come snooping. She must have only converted the best...but then, _somehow_, you forgot her..."

"So, there is no meaning to us anymore, not if we've forgotten our apparent purpose. Our lives are pointless..." murmured Harry.

"No life is _ever _pointless..." retorted the Doctor, turning to face Harry directly, "Every life has a significance in time, and, throughout my travels in this wide, enormous universe, I have never discovered _anyone _who wasn't important. You're not pointless as long as you matter to someone, if someone matters to you, if you laugh, if you cry, if you love, if you _live_..."

"But, by forgetting her, she must be vulnerable, putting ourselves at risk..."

"Well, not for much longer..." commented the Doctor, rushing back to the console.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron.

"I'm going to jump forward by a few hundred years, see what manner of protection she has accumulated. Now, do I remember how to do this...ah, yes..."

He sauntered around the console, pulling levers, pushing buttons and typing commands. It was quite the odd display, but he seemed he knew what he was doing. After a few seconds, the TARDIS shook back into life, but soon went quiet again.

"Right, it's now _1833 _BCE, but we haven't moved in space at all. Let's take another glimpse, shall we?"

They all rushed back towards the door. A remarkably different sight greeted their inquisitive eyes, however, when they threw the doors open.

They were standing above the same desert, but now what looked like a small sandstone settlement dominated the immediate landscape. It circled what had been the impact crater, which was now transformed into a small, golden pyramid surrounded by obelisks. The settlement consisted of thousands of buildings, pastures and farms.

"Woah..." remarked Ron, "What is all this?"

"The first guards of the Queen, attempting to protect her the best they can..." the Doctor explicated.

"These are wizards?" asked Harry.

"The first wizards, transitimised and drawn to the crash site..."

"So, we actually _were _guards at first..." observed Harry, "We haven't forgotten her just yet..."

"It looks like it. But, I don't think they're very good guards, do you?" queried the Doctor.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, that pyramid, undoubtedly her hiding place, sure does kind of scream 'I'm right here, come get me...'"

"Maybe it's shielded..."

The Doctor closed the doors, and returned to the scanner, regarding it intently.

"According to the TARDIS, no shield exists around this settlement..."

"Then what went wrong?"

"Nothing went wrong, it's just these primitive humans, even now with a comprehension of magic, don't have the technology to protect her sufficiently. Either that, or they've misinterpreted the Queen's desires..."

"So...when the Demons arrived, sometime in the future...what happened?" asked Clara.

"I'm not sure. But this place is a little obvious, so I suspect..." he contemplated, "Well, there's only one way to find out..."

He pulled a different lever on the console. With another shudder, the TARDIS once more became active, coming to a rest again after a minute.

"The exact same point in space..." elucidated the Doctor, "But now we're back in 2013..."

For the third time, they opened the doors, and they nearly gasped at what they witnessed. Every trace of the ancient settlement was gone, instead replaced by an astonishingly enormous crater, miles wide. It was so deep, the bedrock of the Chalbi Desert had been exposed, with the crater floor dusted in sand.

"The work of the Demons, sometime in the past four millennia..." muttered the Doctor, looking slightly abhorred, "A civilisation, destroyed..."

"It's gone! But...she _can't_ be dead, so-"

"So, she was moved somewhere else, prior to the explosion here..." surmised the Doctor, "Damn it! I thought this trip would have been indicative in our search, but it leaves us with a dead-end..."

"Can't you use the Receptacle again?"

"No other significant part of her life shows up on it, remember? That means the rest of her time here on Earth has been relatively uneventful. We can't lock onto anything..."

"Ok then, go back in time and find the precise time she was moved..."

"We would be looking for a precise moment in a period four thousand years long. That would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, with nothing to go on. It would be a ridiculous case of trial and error..."

"So what do we do?" asked Clara.

"I'm...not sure..."

"_You're not sure_?" sputtered Ron, "We will all die if she's killed! You said you could find her!"

"He'll think of something, he always does..." pressed Clara, "Just give him a moment..."

They waited, for several very tense moments, as the Doctor stood very still, leaning against the console, evidently thinking. After a few moments, he broke it.

"So...she's been moved..." he uttered simply.

"Yes, we've got that, thanks..." remarked Ron impatiently.

"But where to, I wonder..." he pondered, "We know that the British Prime Minister is now a Demon, so what does that suggest? She _could_ be in Britain somewhere, and so they're focusing their efforts there..."

"How would she have travelled to Britain? She was weak, wasn't she?" considered Clara.

"I dunno _how_, but she _may_ be there. Has anything happened recently in your society?" he asked the two wizards, "Something odd, or curious; something that doesn't quite add up?"

Harry remembered something Jonah mentioned earlier.

"Well...the premise of the Prime Minister's resignation was a bit...strange..." said Harry.

"How so?" asked the Doctor curiously.

Harry took out the copy of the _Evening Prophet _Jonah had given earlier, stuffed into his uniform pocket, and, trying to avert his eyes from the disturbing image of the Demon Immanuel Aldeborne, read directly from the front cover article.

"_...the resignation of Prime Minister Daniel Carlton came very shortly after an attempted liaison yesterday, according to the officials at the Liaison Office. Apparently, mere hours before his resignation, Carlton had attempted to make contact with Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt to discuss a Muggle affair regarding a strange explosion at Bose-Carbora monastery, a Muggle place of worship, in Yorkshire last week. According to the portrait (which acts as the liaison agent between Downing Street and the Ministry of Magic), the Prime Minister had suspected wizarding involvement, but Minister Shacklebolt was busy at the time and so couldn't immediately address it..."_

"What, the Prime Minister confers with you guys?" asked Clara, surprised, "He knows you exist?"

"It's in both of our interests..." explained Harry, "It's hard to explain..."

"That's very interesting..." commented the Doctor, "I mean, this Bose-Carbora explosion. It certainly sounds strange, so maybe the Demons were involved. It's possible the Demons knew the Prime Minister would contact you wizards about it, and so wanted to prevent alerting you, but was too late...possibly..."

"So, this monastery has significance?"

"Indeed. Evidently she's not there, as otherwise the explosion would have killed her and we wouldn't be having this discussion, but it's certainly worth a look. It may give us our next lead..."

"Well then! What are we waiting for?" asked Harry, "Let's go!"

"Right then. To this Bose-Carbora monastery!" proclaimed the Doctor, and set to work on the console, completely unaware of the danger he was not just about to throw himself, Clara and the two wizards into, but the whole Earth as well.

* * *

**I wonder if anyone can spot the Pertwee-era quote in this chapter ;)**


	9. The Sanctuary of Bose-Carbora

**Chapter 9: The Sanctuary of Bose-Carbora**

The TARDIS materialised a short distance away from Bose-Carbora monastery, in a green pasture surrounded by trees. The four of them exited the TARDIS promptly.

"Wow...we moved again. Still getting used to that..." muttered Harry to Ron, "It's like apparition, only a lot more pleasant..."

"Don't worry, it'll become routine soon enough..." said Clara, smiling encouragingly, "But what's apparition?"

"It's like teleportation, I suppose. That's what Muggles would call it..."

"You guys can actually do that?" asked Clara astounded.

"It's not exactly enjoyable, but yes, we can..."

"That sounds plausible. The White Witches were capable of that ability. Still, you have so many other attributes which the White Witches lack..." pointed out the Doctor contemplatively, as he gathered his bearings. They seemed impossibly more advanced than the White Witches. What exactly had the Queen created here?

"Getting back to the matter at hand," pressed Ron, "Where is this monastery?"

"Just outside this copse..." replied the Doctor, "I parked the TARDIS out of the way a bit, just in case..."

"In case of what?" asked Harry, as the party of four, led by the Doctor, navigated through the trees, the convivial near-Spring sun shining through the treetops.

"Well, if the Demons of the Run _were_ involved in the Bose-Carbora explosion somehow, I dare say they may still be keeping their eyes on it, and I'd rather keep _them _well away from my TARDIS..."

"But why blow up a monastery? What for?"

"I'm not sure. However, we can presume they must be trying to narrow down her location, assuming they are actually involved in this event..."

"Well I certainly hope so..." commented Harry, "Because if not, we haven't got anything else to go on..."

"Be careful what you hope for!" remarked the Doctor, "If the Demons _are_ around here, I certainly wouldn't want to fight them!"

"Howwould _you _even fight them? Monologue them to death?"

"I don't monologue!"

"You kind of do a bit..." agreed Clara, smiling, "First on Mercatus Minor against that merchant, and then in the Department of Mysteries against Miss K. Can't help showing off, you clever boy..."

"_Run you clever boy_..." echoed in his minds. He shook them out at once...that was for later, when the Hasrion Pendant was retrieved. There were more pressing matters at hand.

" All I'm saying is that the Demons are ancient warriors with a level of psionic control you wizards can only dream!"

"So, essentially, they're just powerful dark wizards?" surmised Harry.

"Well yes, if you want to colloquialise my terminology-"

"Then that'll be fine. We've dealt with quite a few dark wizards in our time..." stated Ron, "And Harry here is the expert..."

"Are you referring to the war you mentioned earlier?"

The wizard nodded.

"It's odd how they were even 'dark' in the first place..." commented the Doctor, "The Queen was a very good person, apparently. One would think the products of her transitimisation would be all sunshine and daisy's as well. Maybe not then..."

"Well, fusing magic with humanity may create something impressive, but humanity can be bad sometimes..." construed Clara, "I guess that must be present in their race too..."

"Very true Clara. So, Harry, Ron, what was your war about? Who was it against?"

"It was against someone called Lord Voldemort, who believed in the blood purity of our people. He was taking over everything, and had to be stopped..." surmised Harry.

"Blood purity?" enquired the Doctor.

"We wizards all come from different families and blood lines. If we are born to parents who are both magical, we are said to be pure blood. If only one parent is magical, then we're half-blood. If neither parent is magical, we are said to be Muggle-born, and Voldemort was against the latter. He wanted to destroy them for being different, inferior, in his mindset..."

"How very...Dalek..." commented the Doctor, rather appalled.

"A wizard can be born to non-magical parents?" asked Clara, "How does that work?"

"Recessive genes, I'd imagine," explained the Doctor, "The transitimisation we witnessed was a random selection at first, but it must have been subsequently genetic..."

"So, _I_ could be a witch then..." postulated Clara, "That would be cool! Teleporting everywhere would be awesome!"

"Well, you're certainly _not,_ because all witches and wizards are recorded at birth..." clarified Ron.

"How?" she responded.

"How do you think? By magic..." uttered Harry, with a smirk, "Keep up..."

The trees eventually thinned out, and a rather tragic sight met their eyes. They were standing on the precipice of a large, green valley, at the very bottom of which stood the dilapidated ruins of what must have been the Bose-Carbora monastery. It must have been marvellous to behold in its prime, considered the Doctor, but it was now just reduced to a pile of stone and debris wrapped in police tape. The steeple had collapsed into the adjacent graveyard, three out of the four walls had collapsed in on themselves with the remaining wall standing intact, albeit fragmented, and the stain glass windows were all shattered, their remains distributed upon the church grounds, sparkling like dew in the sun.

"Blimey," commented Ron, "It's a wreck..."

The Doctor probed his sonic screwdriver briefly, and scrutinized the data being displayed by the particle analyser component.

"Large number of psionic particles in the air..." explained the Doctor to his companions, as they looked on curiously, "Something magical has certainly been here..."

"So the Demons really did do this..."

"Most likely. Unless you lot have just got bored and decided to blow up churches for the hell of it..."

"Why would we do that?"

"Well, I suppose the witch-burnings of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, supported by the Church, must still rankle?"

"That barely affected us, I think..." commented Ron, "It was mostly Muggles targeting Muggles for the most part. I'm not sure. Hermione would know..."

"Who's Hermione?" asked Clara.

"Oh, she's my girlfriend..."

"Ah, see! You lot live and love!" proclaimed the Doctor to Harry, "Pointless lives - as if! You're still so human at heart!"

"All right, I get the idea..." pressed Harry, "What exactly should we be looking for here?"

"Clues, signs, whatever we can find in the ruins. It may be difficult to find clues in such a damaged environment, but it's worth a try..."

"Well then, let's take a look shall we?"

The odd group briskly traversed down the green valley, eventually reaching the outer boundaries of the Bose-Carbora grounds.

"I suppose the pressing question is, if they were looking for clues, why did they blow the monastery up?" considered the Doctor.

"Maybe they wanted to prevent others from discovering the clues..." replied Clara, "Maybe you. Do you think they know who you are?"

"If they've been here as long as I think they have, then I'd be very surprised if they didn't know who I was. I show up a lot in human history-"

"Wait!" whispered Clara suddenly, pointing into the distance, "Look!"

The group all stared in the direction she was pointing, to see a police car approach the ruins of the monastery from the other side of the valley.

"Great, the rozzers..." murmured the Doctor, "This may get complicated..."

"But don't you have a police box? You could look the part!" noted Ron.

"That police box is fifty years out of date! It wouldn't fool anybody!"

"So what do we do?"

"Well, we really don't have any time to lose, frankly, so I advocate a stealthy approach. Follow me gang...ooh, I have a gang again! Lovely..."

As the approaching police car disappeared behind the mass of the ruined monastery, the Doctor led the other three behind a fallen column, where they surreptitiously crouched .

"What are we doing?" whispered Ron, as they heard the slamming of a car door.

"Eavesdropping!" retorted the Doctor.

"Eavesdropping? Why?"

"Well, because of the police tape around here, the police have clearly been investigating. They may drop some useful details! Now shut up, one of them is talking..."

"-Don't tell me to shut up!-"

"_Shut up_!"

"-look at the bloody state of it!" they heard, "My family used to go this church! Blown to smithereens..."

"Please keep your personal matters to yourself, pointless babble only pollutes my train of thought..."

"Oh...sorry..."

"Now, where is the entry point to this basement?"

"Just in the nave of the monastery, but be careful, the structure is unsound-"

"I worked that much out for myself, thanks..."

There was a pause, and the sound of shuffling footsteps.

"What exactly was in this basement, constable?"

"Architectural plans, and things which look rather pagan in origin. My seniors have only just authorised their removal, and so you are permitted to take some items back with you, to aid in your investigation, Mr Holmes..."

_Architectural plans_, considered the Doctor, interestedly. Intriguing...very intriguing.

"Fantastic. But I do hope this case is an fascinating as Lestrade made it out to be..."

"Well, sir, it has captivated the interest of the population, most certainly..."

"Oh I don't care about the interests of the population, constable. All they care about are celebrities and other mundanities. Such a tragic misuse of mindpower..."

"Right...well, just follow me, Mr Holmes..." called the police officer, "Mind your head..."

"This all sounds very promising..." whispered the Doctor to Harry and Ron, "But we can't allow these men to take anything away! Can you two do something?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Can you zap them asleep or something?"

"Is that really necessary?"

"I wouldn't normally approve of such behaviour, but we are in kind of a rush here!"

"All right, fine, but targeting Muggles is against the law-"

"Says the two wizards who broke me out of Auror custody!" remarked the Doctor.

"That's...that's a fair point..." uttered Ron, "All right. Let's do this Harry..."

The two wizards stood up and took out their wands.

"_Stupefy_!" they both shouted simultaneously.

"Eh-"

"What the hell-"

Both men were cut off as Harry and Ron's spell struck them. They keeled over against the stonework, utterly unconscious.

"Excellent work! Well, not excellent, but necessary. Well...good work, but not really-"

"Calm down..." pressed Clara, "No damage was done, you don't have to feel guilty for once..."

"Yes, quite. Well, into the monastery, I suppose!" proclaimed the Doctor.

Stepping courteously over the unconscious bodies of the two men ("I swear I recognise one of them from somewhere..." mentioned Clara), the Doctor, Clara, Harry and Ron cautiously entered the ramshackle monastery. The smell of old and disturbed dust punctuated the air inside, and the latent smell of burning could be detected. On closer inspection, every pew and piece of non-stone furnishing was either blackened or had been turned to a pile of ash.

The devastation centred around the odd sight of a shattered stone floor right in the heart of the nave, a gaping hole revealing a broken wooden staircase below.

"Well, this is what they came looking for..." surmised the Doctor, his voice echoing, staring down into the hole, "A basement of sorts. They blew their way into it, by the look of it. _That_ was the reason for the explosion. It must have been sealed off..."

"Blimey..."

"So...do we go down there?" asked Clara.

"Oh yes. We didn't come here for nothing. But that staircase looks a little fragile for my liking..."

"I'll handle that, don't worry..." said Harry, taking out his wand, "_Reparo_!"

In a flash, the staircase was repaired, looking as good as new.

"Ok, that was cool..." commented Clara.

"Thanks, Harry. Down we go then!" said the Doctor bravely.

The air was cold and dank as they carefully descended the surprisingly short staircase. Within a few seconds, they stood in a pitch black room which smelt distinctively musky, the dim light stemming from the monastery above barely piercing the dark intensity.

"_Lumos_..." said Harry and Ron, and the room they were in became somewhat illuminated.

"Seriously, is there anything you guys can't do with those wands?" asked Clara, awed.

"There are some things..." mentioned Ron.

As their eyes adjusted to the light, they found themselves in the most peculiar of rooms. The stone walls of the basement were decorated with what looked like miniaturised skulls, and it looked like there was a cauldron of sorts on the far side of the basement, standing upon a tiled floor.

"Well...this is strange. This place looks like it originated from _our_ world..." commented Ron, "But why is it hidden underneath a Muggle monastery?"

"I don't know..." admitted the Doctor. He pulled out the sonic screwdriver, and performed a brief age scan of the contents of the basement.

"This basement is over eight hundred years old, stemming from approximately 1200..." he commented.

"That fits with the timeline..."

"Anything in the last four thousand years fits with the timeline, we need something a little more substantial..."

The Doctor approached what looked like a wooden bureau, sitting in one corner of the basement. The wood had partially rotted, but some of its drawers and the desktop itself had been shattered slightly, revealing white, untainted wood. This meant there had been some recent damage to it.

"Ooh...intense psionic energy particles emanating from here..." remarked the Doctor as the screwdriver went haywire, "They were interested in _this _thing..."

"What is it? A desk?"

"No flies on the wizard. But technically it's a bureau..."

"Hey, it's still pretty dark in here, it's not my fault..."

The Doctor examined the drawers, pulling one open. Inside were clusters of surprisingly pristine paper, each individual piece tied up into a tight cylinder with a piece of a string. The Doctor extracted one, untied the string, and opened it up on the desktop.

"Woah...what is that?" asked Ron, regarding the elaborate contents of the paper. Mathematical calculations and highly detailed notes and comments decorated what looked like the plan of a building.

"An architectural plan, a blueprint of a building if you will..." answered the Doctor, "It's what those police officers were referring to..."

"Of what buildings?"

The Doctor looked at the top of the plan.

"_The Magical Ailment Research Centre, Birmingham_..." read the Doctor.

"Hey, that's a wizard building!"

"I kind of got that from the name, Ron..."

"Well, just saying..."

The Doctor found a small paragraph written in the smallest of scrawls underneath the plan title:

"_Finalised in the year of Our Lord Almighty 1160_, _what be presented below is the final authorised floorplan for the above titled building, funded by Minister for Magic Samuel Carlisle_, _designed by_ _Quentin Blakeworthy_..." he read.

"Quentin Blakeworthy...that name sounds familiar from somewhere..." considered Ron.

"He sounds rather religious for a wizard..." mentioned Harry, "But I suppose that explains why this place is underneath a monastery. He could have been Muggle-born, I guess..."

The Doctor pulled out another one of the architectural plans, and again opened it.

"_The Wizarding Bank of Birmingham, subsidiary of Gringotts_..." this one read, "Again, by this Quentin Blakeworthy..."

He pulled out one more.

"_The Zyclick Zinema_, in Leeds, designed by...well, guess who..."

Harry, Ron and Clara each extracted another plan from the second drawer.

"_Dragnetts Emporium, Plymouth_..." read Harry, "I've heard of that place, it sells the finest quality lizard eyes in the world, apparently..."

"That's...delightful. I really want to visit that place..." jibed Clara, "This one says _Herpins' Haberdashery_, in Exeter..."

"That's another wizarding building..." stated Harry.

"_The_ _Quidditch Souk, _also in Exeter..." read Ron, "Mum took me there once, it's not too far from the Burrow..."

"And are they all by this Quentin Blakeworthy?" asked the Doctor. The other three nodded.

"Very interesting..."

For the next few minutes, they scoured through the remaining architectural plans in the bureau, ultimately making their way through at least fifty individual plans in six distinct drawers. They found plans for buildings in Scotland, Wales, Northumberland, East Anglia, even the Isle of Wight! Rather interestingly, the bottom draw was empty.

"I think I remember Hermione going on about this Quentin Blakeworthy..." said Ron, "I think she said he was a famous wizarding architect, or a mathematician, or both..."

"That much is evident..." said Harry, examining one of the blueprints, "These plans are littered with equations. Furthermore, if these plans are genuine, and they certainly look genuine, then he's designed practically every governmental or commercial wizarding building in the country..."

"Ooh, this is very interesting, don't you think?" asked the Doctor, grinning.

"I know that smile. You've thought of something, haven't you?" asked Clara, smiling back.

"Well, isn't it obvious? Why would the Demons come looking down here? I don't know _how_ they found out about this place, but they wanted these architectural plans for a very specific reason..."

"Wait, are you suggesting that the Demons think the Queen is hidden in one of these buildings?" asked Ron.

"Yes! Why else would the Demons come looking for the blueprints of said buildings? They would have wanted to scan them for secrets, hidden corridors, that kind of stuff..."

"Then why did the Demons leave them all here?" asked Clara.

"They only took the architectural plans of interest, evidently. The bottom draw is empty..."

"That could have been empty to begin with..."

"Yes, but what do we notice about the contents of each drawer?"

His three companions stared at him blankly.

"What?" pressed Ron.

"Each drawer contains buildings in one geographical area of Britain. The top drawer was the Midlands, the second drawer from the top was the West country, and so on. But, out all the plans we looked through, which prime location was missing?"

They thought for a few seconds, before Harry said-

"London..."

"London indeed..." confirmed the Doctor, "The bottom drawer must have been for London wizarding buildings, and I know for a fact you have at least one building there: the Ministry of Magic. What other wizarding buildings are in London?"

"There are plenty. There's St Mungo's hospital, Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Diagon Alley, The Leaky Cauldron..." listed Harry.

"And I think...if I recall Hermione's passing remarks about this Quentin Blakeworthy to me, he designed at least a few of those...maybe..." drawled Ron, scratching his head, "I can't remember, I tend to fade out when she lectures me..."

"Some boyfriend you are..." quipped Clara.

"Well, if they took all the London plans, what does that suggest?" asked the Doctor openly.

"That they think she's hidden in one of Quentin's _London_ buildings..." surmised Harry.

"Exactly. They must be pretty confident in that judgement, to ignore all the other plans in this bureau..."

"They could have just destroyed them. It would have left the trail cold, especially if they think you could get involved..." remarked Clara.

"Well, don't you think all these architectural plans are in quite a remarkable physical condition?" enquired the Doctor, "Given that they've been cooped up in this grimy basement for the best part of eight-hundred years, it's fair to say they've had some added protection..."

Harry probed one of the plans with his wand.

"_Specialisis Revelio..._" he murmured, "Hmm, you're right Doctor. There's a powerful preservation charm on these plans. Damn near indestructible, by the look of it..."

"So, we're suggesting that this Quentin Blakeworthy hid the Queen?" stated Ron.

"It looks like it..."

"But how? She was in Kenya, you showed us that!"

"But we saw that she was moved at some point. There must be a connection somehow. Take a look around this place, see what you can find. This basement was connected to Quentin Blakeworthy somehow..."

They did so, each tackling a corner of the mysterious basement.

Ron found a kind of wooden board propped up against the far wall, which was probably some kind of notice board, but was now horribly burnt and its contents, if it had any, purged from existence - the work of the Demons, he considered.

Harry searched the cauldron, which was considerably larger and looked like it could hold some internal object, but it was, disappointingly, empty.

The Doctor regarded the miniaturised skulls with fervent curiosity. They were adorned with ceremonial masks and tribal embellishments, all of which looked distinctly sub-Saharan in nature. This strengthened his earlier views, but it still remained to be seen how this Quentin Blakeworthy found the Queen in the first place and how - assuming he was, so far in his own deductions, correct - he moved her all the way to Britain.

Elsewhere, Clara was investigating the strange bureau, checking every corner and edge of it for any secrets, removing each drawer and checking the space behind it, and so on. In the dim light of the wizards' wands from across the room, she then noticed something slightly interesting; a tiny triangle of white was peeking out from the very bottom of the bureau. At first, she thought it was a trick of the eye, but it certainly existed on closer inspection.

"Hey, Harry...can you shine your wand over here a bit?" she asked, attracting the attention of the Doctor.

"Sure..." acquiesced Harry, moving over to where she stood. With the brighter light, the white triangle became identifiable as a tiny piece of paper, wedged surreptitiously between the bureau and the floor.

"Ooh, nice find Clara!" proclaimed the Doctor happily, kissing the top of her forehead, "Now what's this then? Harry, Ron, could you lift the bureau up off the floor please..."

They did so, allowing the Doctor to pull out the small shred of paper. With fascinated intrigue, he read the contents.

"_My final building_. _Upon the request of my monastic Muggle acquaintances, I have agreed to construct Bose-Carbora monastery. However, I plan on constructing my much needed sanctuary underneath the monastery, the design of which is presented below. I hope, if this message is ever found, it is discovered by those in Her favour, so that they can use the assets of my sanctuary to save Her. If so, look for the fourth square northwards, from the west_. _QB, year of Our Lord Almighty 1196_..."

"Curious..." contemplated Clara, "And rather cryptic..."

"Something the Demons must have overlooked..." said the Doctor, "And look at how he capitalised 'Her'; he is certainly involved with the Queen..."

"What does he mean by 'look for the fourth square northwards, from the west'?" asked Harry curiously.

"I'm not sure..." admitted the Doctor.

The plan of the basement as given on the scrap was small, and, unlike Quentin's other architectural plans, contained very little detail. The rectangular structure of the basement plan was divided into many individual squares, which, when compared to the room in actuality, must have corresponded to the-

"Tiles! The tiles on the floor! They're square! We need to look for the fourth square in the direction of north, starting from the north-western corner! He must have left clues for anyone who came to help the queen! Now...which way is north?" pondered the Doctor.

"Oh, I can find that out..." said Harry, "I remember this spell from the Triwizard Tournament..."

He pulled out his wand, and laid it flat upon his palm.

"_Point me_..." he whispered, and the wand suddenly juddered, changing direction by a few degrees. It was now orthogonal to the side of the basement with the cauldron.

"Up there, with the cauldron. That's north!"

"Excellent! So we must simply look underneath the fourth tile up there, proceeding from the west!"

He rushed over and identified the correct tile. It was firmly grounded in.

"Can one of you two prise it free?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, give me a sec..." said Ron, pointing his wand at the tile, "_Praestrindo_!"

The cement holding the tile turned to dust, allowing the Doctor to wrench the tile away from the floor. However, the Doctor felt a deep disappointment when he saw absolutely nothing beneath it but dirt.

"But...the fourth square..." he ambled, confused. He scraped at the dirt, hoping to uncover something, but to no avail.

"Well, that was useful..." commented Ron, "Maybe the Demons already took what was underneath..."

"The tile was sealed..." uttered the Doctor, "The note must be more cryptic than we initially thought, but what must it mean?_ Look for the fourth square northwards, from the west..._"

"Well, Doctor, I have been helping Artie and Angie with their maths homework a lot. Isn't the fourth square...four squared? So, sixteen?" piped up Clara.

The Doctor turned to Clara, very slowly, a huge grin on his face.

"Clara Oswald, you're _brilliant_..." he murmured, hugging her, "It's evident from his architectural plans that Quentin was a mathematician, as well an archaeologist, so this is the sort of thing Quentin would do!"

"So the sixteenth square is..._this one_..." said Ron, counting the tiles. He performed the same charm as before, and they swiftly removed the slab. Below, in a shallow alcove, lay a book bound in faded leather. The Doctor carefully extracted it, and gently opened the cover:

_Journal of Quentin David John Blakeworthy _was written on the first page, which, like the architectural plans, was in a remarkably pristine condition. The Doctor read aloud the journals' entries:

_**28th September 1157**_

_Having arrived at the end of my university course, I find the time for subterfuge has passed and I must complete the practical assignment of my degree post-haste. My lecturers have recommended a trip to Ethiopia and Kenya, as the architectural understanding of the wizarding tribes there is unspecified. Apparently, it would give me a name in the architectural community, which could be a useful asset. A good survey of sub-Saharan architecture will allow me to gain a Masters with distinction. _

_**4th November 1157**_

_I have departed for the African subcontinent on my own. As is the tradition with these tasks, voyage must be made without apparition (I am still debating the logic of this custom). As such, it may take me days at broomstick speeds to reach my intended destination. I seek to commence my surveys in the western Ethiopian desert, where the Shali and Kasku wizarding tribes are said to reside. Hopefully I will find notable architecture there for my assignment. _

_**10th November 1157**_

_The Ethiopian tribes reacted very poorly to my appearance. They accused me of being a "demon" of sorts. I did not expect them to hold such religious concepts, a rare facet of wizardkind. I seem to be the sole exception to that in Britain, but I have always felt a service to God does not conflict with our nature. I will move on to the Kenyan tribes and hope they are more hospitable. _

_**13th November 1157**_

_I have arrived in the outskirts of an astonishing city contiguous to one of the most intriguing structures I have ever witnessed - a massive pyramid, akin to the Muggle pyramids of Giza. This discovery has exceeded all of my expectations for this trip. Such a city was rumoured to have existed, but only in folklore, and I have never considered these tales to be true. Regardless, my eyes do not deceive me. The locals call this city Hasrion, and are incredibly wary of me, and say that I should not have come to "her" domain. Moments later, however, they completely changed their minds and welcomed me graciously, a change which unsettled me. Their change in disposition was because "the Queen saw interest in me", according to one of the city dwellers. I am to meet this Queen at once, apparently. _

"Is that it?" asked Ron after a few seconds, as the Doctor had become suddenly silent.

"No, there's a bit more, but it's just..." murmured the Doctor, "The style of handwriting changes. Before it was messy and for the next bit...it's impressively neat..."

"Does it matter?"

"You can judge a lot about the state of a man by the quality of his handwriting..." commented the Doctor, "But I digress. Let's continue..."

_**14th November 1157**_

_She saw me, and I saw Her. She flooded my head with instructions and information. She does not belong on this Earth, but She cannot be an "alien" as She so proclaims, but instead a fallen angel of God. In any event, She is an enigmatic and beautiful mystery. She wants me to help Her, as Her present guard are unable to protect Her sufficiently. I must oblige. I will take Her back to Britain with me, but it will mean a much longer voyage as She is unable to travel directly. We must venture by sea - the locals are constructing a boat. I will be forced to put forward my report of my travels in order to secure my degree, which she says is necessary. I am blessed with a heavenly errand that I must arise to. Praise Her. _

"So he _did_ move her..." said Clara, "He moved her to Britain. Does it say where, precisely?"

"There is one last entry, but it's far into the future, a very long way in fact..." said the Doctor.

_**16th April 1189**_

_The building is complete and has been officially inaugurated. The Vault is primed, and she is safe. Like all good mysteries, she is hidden where the mysteries are not mysterious at all. To her saviours, Godspeed. Her enemies are close. _

"She is hidden where the mysteries are not mysterious at all..." repeated Harry.

"What do you think that means?" asked Clara.

"I'm not sure. But it's certainly a very valuable lead, which may give us an advantage over the Demons, even if they now possess the London architectural plans-"

"Really? Well, in that case, I'd most appreciate it if you hand it over..." came a sudden, chilling voice. The four of them bolted around to witness two people - one man, one woman - dressed in solid black, their eyes distinctly red even in the dim light of the basement. The perception filter slowly melted away to reveal two monstrosities, just like the one they all witnessed in the newspaper article earlier.

They had come face to face with some of the Demons of the Run.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay! More soon. **


	10. The Demons of the Run - Part 1

**Chapter 10: The Demons of the Run - Part 1**

Harry and Ron were stunned at the disturbing sight before them. The newspaper photograph of Immanuel Aldeborne, with its true image exposed, did not give the true horror of the Demons any justice. Their blackened skin, red eyes, claw-like fingers and lipless mouths amounted to something even more terrifying than Voldemort.

"Hand it over, Doctor..." repeated one of the Demons in a low hiss, the woman, her eyes positively burning with red intensity.

"You know who I am, then?" demanded the Doctor.

"Of course we know who _you_ are, Time Lord. We were always wondering if you would get involved in this affair. You reputation for interference precedes you..."

"My involvement is very necessary. You seek to commit the genocide of _two_ civilisations..."

"It is none of your concern, Doctor. This matter is firmly between us and the White Witches, and their derivatives..."

"Who are you then, precisely?" asked the Doctor.

"We are two soldiers of the Imperial Legion..."

"The Imperial Legion?" asked the Doctor confusedly.

"Elite servants of the Demon Emperor, carrying out his final desire before that disgusting woman destroyed him and half our race when she left Crixsos. We are here to amend that transgression, and satisfy our Emperor's wish..."

"Why did you come back to Bose-Carbora?"

"To reclaim the rest of Blakeworthy's plans. It was foolish of us to leave them all here; we were in a rush you see, but it doesn't matter now. You have uncovered an even greater asset, by the sound of things..."

"I will not hand it over to you..."

"Do you really think you have a choice? If you don't hand it over, we will prise it from your corpse. But, do think straight, Doctor - we have no qualm against _you_. We have always respected the Time Lords, we're quite similar in fact-"

"Thousands of people here will die if you kill her!" spat Harry, "Even if the Doctor was neutral in this whole affair, you would still have to face _us_..."

The two Demons looked straight at him, a very curious smile (if you could call it that) stamped upon their faces.

"Well well, Harry Potter..." said the man. Harry recoiled.

"H-how do you know who I am?"

"We have been examining your civilisation here for centuries. How could we not know who _you_ are? You're the wizard who killed Voldemort..."

The Doctor turned to face Harry, looking highly surprised.

"You _killed _this Voldemort?" he asked.

"It was the only way..." said Harry, "There was a prophecy-"

"Can we have this conversation later please?" shot Clara.

"It's curious how you lot even met. But I digress. _Hand over that book now_..." hissed the man.

"Or what?"

"Or Dtstraie, or as he is known to your people, Immanuel Aldeborne, will be forced to exercise his prerogative..."

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe you should speak with him_, _but_ after you give me that book_..."

The Doctor hesitated, but then Harry saw the slightest of smirks creep onto his face. The Doctor edged closer to the Demons, Quentin's journal outstretched in front of him

"But wait. Don't you want to know how we found it?" he asked simply, just as the Demons were about to take the journal from his extended hand. He snatched his hand back, and moved backwards a few steps.

"Not particularly-" they began impatiently.

"You obviously weren't paying enough attention to this room. Old Blakeworthy clearly knew how to deceive you, planting clues that any arrogant Demon would easily overlook. However, with the right mindset, the clues just _apparate _into existence, don't they guys?"

_Oh you clever twat_. _How the hell did we not think of that? _Harry looked at Ron; they shared the same look of sudden exigency. In a split second, Ron took hold of Clara's hand whilst Harry put his hand firmly on the Doctor's shoulders. As the faces of the Demons contorted with sudden realisation and subsequent rage, Harry firmly took hold of Ron's hand, closed his eyes, and desperately tried to imagine their destination-

"_STOP-" _was all Harry heard before they were enveloped by that ever uncomfortable sensation of tight, restrictive blackness. Seconds later, cool air hit their faces; they were outside the monastery again, landing face first in the green pastures outside the grounds.

"Blimey..." stammered Clara, "You guys really _can_ teleport. And it really _isn't_ enjoyable..."

"Quickly! Back to the TARDIS!" ordered the Doctor, slipping Blakeworthy's book into his coat pocket, "Why didn't you transport us straight there?"

"I was in a rush, all right? I couldn't make the location specific enough in that short amount of time! And it's really difficult to transport three people alongside you!" explained Harry. The four broke into a quick run up the valley.

"You could have done that as soon as they ambushed us, you know!" asked Clara.

"Looking at one of those _things_ doesn't exactly leave you in the most coherent of mindsets!"

"Can't you apparate us there right now-" began Clara, but was cut off when a colossal smashing sound echoed behind them. As they sprinted, they looked behind them to see the terrifying sight of two dark plumes twisting out of the monastery roof, which was now even more damaged, newly formed debris flying in all directions.

"No time!" explained Harry.

"_Expulso_!" shouted Ron, as a particularly large stone hurtled in their direction; it shattered into dust.

"_DOCTOR!_" came a bellowing voice as the Demons rematerialised in front of the monastery.

"Run!" yelled the Doctor.

"We _are_ running!"

"Then run faster!"

They rapidly reached the small forest at the top of the valley, but something very hot suddenly approached them from behind. Glancing behind him as he ran, Harry was horrified to see that the Demons were launching fireballs at them, setting the trees above them alight.

"Bloody hell! _Protego_!" shouted Harry as one of the fireballs came very close to them. It exploded upon impact with the shield charm, disintegrating two adjacent trees. As the fire dissipated, they regarded the fear-provoking spectacle of the two Demons charging rapidly through the trees, manipulating the fire against the four of them.

"_Stupefy_!" yelled Ron, aiming at the Demons. The spell hit them directly, but did nothing.

"_Impedimenta!" _bellowed Harry, but, like Ron's spell, the impediment jink did nothing to encumber the monsters.

"_Xintarapptelli_!" shrieked one of the Demons, a spell, if that what it was, which Harry had never heard of. Harry's shield charm imploded behind them. The Demons were quickly closing the gap, the fire in the trees twisting violently under their control.

"_Stupefy maxima_!" shouted Harry. The spell hit one of the charging Demons right in the chest, but this time the spell had a slight effect, causing the Demon to stumble slightly, albeit for only a few seconds. They retaliated by launching one of the fire plumes directly at Clara, the Doctor swiftly pulling her away as it struck the ground and engulfed another tree.

"Ron! Use _stupefy maxima_!" choked Harry, the smoke starting to engulf the air around them.

"Ok! _Stupefy maxi- _WAIT!"

The four of them came to a sharp stop as a blazing tree collapsed in front of them.

"_Expulso_!" yelled Harry, and the smouldering trunk exploded in front of them, clearing the path. They continued sprinting through the burning forest, the Demons fervently breathing down their necks.

"They sure do have a penchant for fire!" remarked Harry, launching spell after spell behind him.

"Psionic energy is elemental in nature..." explained the Doctor, who was using his sonic screwdriver against the Demons with no discernible effect, "This is evidently their favoured element!"

"Aren't they worried about burning the book?"

"It's protected from damage, just like the architectural plans!"

"What are you using that thing for?" asked Ron, as the Doctor continued to wave his screwdriver at the Demons.

"I'm helping!"

"_How_? You've got a _screwdriver_, what are you going to do, build a cabinet at them?"

"It's a _sonic _screwdriver!"

"That's just a word!"

Seconds later, the TARDIS came into view through the billowing smoke, but two black silhouettes suddenly hurtled over their heads, coming to block the path in front of them. The plumes of fire circled them like sharks preparing to attack their prey, blocking all other escape routes.

"This game has gone on long enough..." snarled the female Demon lividly, "HAND IT OVER!"

Harry then processed something the Doctor had said but a moment ago. If magic, or as he called it, 'psionic energy', was elemental, then that meant opposing elements could be used against them. And what was the opposing element of fire?

Water...or, more effectively, _ice_.

"_Glacius_!" shouted Harry impulsively, "_Glacius maxima_!"

A jet of ice struck both of the Demons, knocking them onto the ground. The fire plumes surrounding the four of them disappeared, their controllers incapacitated.

"Brilliant move Harry! Keep moving!" shouted the Doctor. The four continued, Harry still applying the freezing charm for as long as he could, the two Demons snarling and wrestling against the ice attempting to encapsulate their bodies.

They finally reached the TARDIS, but just as the Doctor threw the door open, the ice prison holding the Demons violently shattered. The liberated Demons, with a glare of almost inconceivable rage, stormed towards the TARDIS at breakneck speed.

"_Quickly!" _ordered the Doctor, ushering them in as swiftly as possible, slamming the doors shut.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" demanded Clara.

"Most certainly!" agreed the Doctor, setting to work on the console. He threw the black lever, and the TARDIS launched into noisy motion. However, a few seconds later, a colossal grinding sound reverberated through the console room, and the TARDIS shook violently. A deep, bonging sound rung throughout the time machine, like a slow, ominous alarm.

"What the hell is happening?" asked Clara.

"Argh! The cloister bell!" shouted the Doctor, as sparks flew out of the console, "The Demons have put a stasis ring around the TARDIS! She can't move!"

"_DOCTOR_!" boomed the voice of the Demons from outside, "YOU ARE NOT LEAVING THIS AREA! LEAVE YOUR TIME CAPSULE AND CONFRONT YOUR FATE!"

"What do we do?" asked Ron apprehensively, "You must be able to do something!"

"The stasis ring needs to be overcome somehow, but that will take up an enormous amount of the TARDIS' Artron energy reserves!"

"Didn't we have a pit stop before we set out on this mad quest?" asked Clara.

"Yes, we did, but I can't get the TARDIS to use all of it at once, that's against her inbuilt protocol! Only in absolute emergencies can we-"

He broke off, and his mouth fell open.

"HADS. We can use HADS again! That's an emergency procedure!" he breathed, "It's not programmed to run with occupants in the console room, but..."

He extracted the sonic screwdriver, and probed the console monitor.

"Changing the HADS protocols, it now does! I doubt HADS activating three times in one day will do her any good, but it's the only way to overcome the stasis ring!"

"But, for HADS to activate, don't we need someone to attack the TARDIS? I don't think the Demons would be that dumb!" argued Clara.

"They don't know about HADS! And, besides, don't you know the sure-fire way to get someone to attack you?" said the Doctor, approaching the door.

"What?"

"Insult their mothers!"

"_What?"_

He threw open the TARDIS door, much to the shock of Harry, Ron and Clara.

"Hey, Demons! You've got looks only a mother could love, but only because she looks as grotesque as you!"

"WHY _YOU INSULENT, IMPUDENT-_"

The Doctor slammed the door just as a blast of fire struck the outside of the TARDIS. The TARDIS shuddered into sudden life and incomprehensible noise. The Doctor rushed back to the console, which was now sparking all over the place.

"That's done it! All the spare energy rerouted straight to the engines! Thank you Demons!" he announced, as the entire time machine aggressively trembled.

"That's the best you could come up with? _Insulting their mothers_?" remarked Clara incredulously, "For a twelve-hundred year old Time Lord, you are so immature!"

"Well it worked didn't it?"

"You could have just soniced it like you did earlier!"

"HADS only registers threats originating from outside the TARDIS!"

"Nevermind..." uttered Clara, as the TARDIS became calm, "Where did HADS send us this time?"

"Ah...that's a good question. I forgot to tell it where to go, so...we could be anywhere..."

The Doctor checked the console.

"Ah, it looks like we're in the Lake District!" he commented.

"Well, that's quaint-"

"No... I mean we're literally_ in_ the Lake District. We're thirty metres underwater..."

"Oh..."

"H-how?" asked Harry, "Shouldn't we be flooded?"

"Haven't you been paying attention? Nothing can breach this control room, be it a drill, be it an angry Demon, or even a lake!"

"Well, being at the bottom of a lake is still better than being with those Demons! You were right, Doctor, they _are_ formidable enemies!" commented Ron breathlessly, taking a seat, "And bloody disgusting to look at, too..."

"But not unbeatable..." commented Harry, "Some of our more powerful spells _could_ affect them..."

"That's a comfort..." said the Doctor, "At least we have some way of combating them, if the worst comes to the worst..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is now a sprint to the finish. They have Quentin's architectural plans, but we have his journal. It is likely we will cross paths again as we simultaneously narrow down her location..."

"But what did that Demon mean when he said Immanuel would 'exercise his prerogative'?" asked Clara.

"I'm not sure. But I would very much like to find out. How about we make passage to Downing Street?"

"Are you _mad_? We just escaped two of those monsters, you want us to voluntary visit a third?" remarked Ron.

"I need to find out more about these Demons. Know your enemy, as they say..."

"So you're just going to pop into 10 Downing Street, and not expect anyone to arrest us on sight?" demanded Clara.

"Hardly. I dare say the new Prime Minister is expecting a visit from me. Even those two Demons suggested I should have a little chat with him..."

"Are you _serious_? This is ridiculous! He'll kill us!"

"I doubt that, but even if he did try, he certainly won't be able to harm us..."

"What gives you that idea?"

"Because I've got you two. You said earlier that you've dealt with quite a few dark wizards in your time, and you proved your expertise back there in the forest. You two were brilliant. I think, if the worst comes to the worst, we'll be well prepared..."

"Look, Doctor, that was just luck! If you hadn't suggested apparition, something which totally escaped my mind back there-"

"But you considered using ice against them, and that was genius! And, it also provides us with a weapon against them. Not enough to overcome them, but certainly enough to temporally disable them, and never underestimate the usefulness of an asset like that..."

"I-I suppose..."

"Well then. Let's partake in a little session of Prime Minister's Questions, shall we?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in Downing Street:

"As your new Prime Minister, it would be negligent of me to not acknowledge the severe economic and social problems that grip modern day Britain. With the budget deficit, high inflation, poor economic growth, and an ever uncertain international economic environment, the challenges for this country are high. However, they are not insurmountable.

"Previous governments have been irresponsible with their policies. The government of Harriet Jones failed to appreciate the significance of the economic downturn, and the subsequent government of Harold Saxon failed to do anything at all, frankly. But now, in 2013, it is time for a most needed change in British politics.

"I think the best days of this country still lie in the future. I think the service our country needs right now is to face up to our really big challenges, to confront our problems, to take difficult decisions, to lead people through those difficult decisions, so that together we can reach better times ahead.

"I believe together we can provide that strong and stable government that our country needs based on imperative human values - rebuilding family, rebuilding community, above all, rebuilding responsibility in our country. These are the things I care about. These are the things that this government will now start work on doing.

"I know the sudden resignation of Daniel Carlton must come as a shock to you all, but he has insisted that he must step down due to health reasons, and is not willing to respond to any questions for some time. His wishes should be respected. Thank you very much..."

The crowd of photographers and journalists, standing outside 10 Downing Street, gave the new Prime Minister a brief smattering of applause, before drowning him in a barrage of questions and camera flashes. He ignored them all, and instead turned away, passing through the famous, glossy black door and closing it behind him.

"Puerile apes..." he muttered under his breath.

"Excellent speech, Dtstraie..." said Aiyoe, emerging from the staircase.

"Thank you, Aiyoe. I thought I'd keep it simple. Promise them joy and they follow blindly like the sheep they are. I would truly make a great politician - lying comes incredibly natural to me!"

"I do hope you've timed this right, Dtstraie, because if you haven't, then you will actually _have _to play the role of Prime Minister or face deposition..."

"Hardly. I made my position to the Queen of England very clear when I asked her to form a government a few hours ago. I planted a few ideas in her dear little head..."

"Good idea, brother!"

"Quite. Regardless, it is an asset that will probably never be called into action. Eyauoiea is studying Blakeworthy's plans with fervency. She has already ruled out two buildings - we'll have the Queen within days. The anticipation is palpable, don't you think?"

"It is indeed. But if we are so certain that she is in London, why did you send Suliass'gh and Diazsay back to Bose-Carbora to recover the other plans?"

"To kill off all connections for the Doctor, something we should have done from the start. Artron energy signatures have been detected in London today, meaning he is active in this time period. We _could_ cross paths. He should _not_ interfere, but his infernal god complex may get in the way of rational thinking, which could disadvantage us. That does remind me, however; I should check on Suliass'gh and Diazsay. They should have returned from Bose-Carbora by now..."

Dtstraie closed his eyes, forming a mental projection with his brethren all the way across the country. After a few seconds, he felt the connection prime, and asked-

"_Where are you_?"

There was a brief pause.

"_He knows, Dtstraie. He was there at Bose-Carbora, investigating it. He found an intriguing object hidden in Blakeworthy's basement, and we were unable to recover it from him. He labelled it is a valuable lead. He is most likely coming for you_..." was the reply.

Dtstraie opened his eyes at once_._

_"_Very interesting..." he whispered, smiling.

"What is it, Dtstraie?" asked Aiyoe concernedly.

"Well..." muttered Dtstraie, composing himself with a slight grin on his face, "To all intensive purposes, it looks like we have a visitor coming..."


	11. The Demons of the Run - Part 2

**Chapter 11: The Demons of the Run - Part 2**

The TARDIS materialised inside the Pillared Room of 10 Downing Street, which was completely empty. Cautiously, the Doctor led his companions outside.

"Wow, are we actually in number 10?" asked Clara, regarding the massive oil paintings and histrionic decorations with amazement, "This is surreal!"

"I take you to Crixsos Delta Three, home of the White Witches, and you find _this _surreal?" remarked the Doctor.

"Well that's different..."

"What do we do then?" asked Harry, wand drawn, scanning the environment.

"Make formalities..." said the Doctor determinedly.

"But there's no one here-"

"Did you know, this room was specifically commissioned for purpose by Prime Minister William Pitt in 1796, for the sole purpose of making contact with one very special individual..." echoed a cool, low voice from the doorway, "It was sanctioned one hundred years before the advent of Torchwood, and completely unbeknownst to royalty ever since. Officially, it's called the Pillared Room, but nearly every Prime Minister since calls it-"

"-The Doctor Room. I know. I recommended it. Makes formalities a lot easier..." stated the Doctor.

"It does, doesn't it?"

The man the Doctor recognised as Immanuel Aldeborne stepped through the door, looking stony but, at the same time, mildly fascinated.

"I am Dtstraie, leader of the Imperial Legion. I always wondered if this day would come. It's nice to meet in the flesh, Time Lord..." said Immanuel.

"I suppose it is. Especially seeing as your perception filter seems to be holding up quite nicely. I'd rather not see your _true_ form ever again, Demon..."

"Ah, is that how you found out about us?" asked Immanuel, stepping slowly closer, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor.

"Well, it's how I realised you were in Britain. I saw through the perception filter of a photograph of you in a newspaper..."

"Ah, photographs are tricky for perception filters, aren't they? Fortunately for us, the populace of this island are so brainless they still wouldn't be able to break it. In real life, the filter is much stronger..."

"We saw straight through the perception filters of the two Demons at Bose-Carbora..."

"Well, perception filters can only be maintained if the ruse is consciously maintained by the users of said filter. I suppose my brethren wanted to intimidate you..."

"They failed in that respect. No Demon can intimidate me away from this mission..."

"Ah yes, _they_ can't. But _I_ can, even without my showing my true form. And I _will_ convince you, Doctor..."

"How do you figure that, then? Your Demon chums at Bose-Carbora mentioned that you would 'exercise your prerogative'. What could you possibly have over me, Prime Minister?"

"I'll come to that in a moment, Doctor. You mention a 'mission'. I presume the White Witches set you up to all this?"

"They told me about their problem, and I voluntarily agreed to help..."

"So, what would bring you to Crixsos in the first place? After all, I thought Time Lords were abhorred amongst the White Witches, what with your gauche history?"

"I am here to repay the debts of the Time Lords to the White Witches, by recovering the Queen-"

Immanuel laughed.

"Is that your reason? It really shouldn't be. The White Witches, especially the Queen, are not as virtuous as they may appear-"

"Well, more importantly, I am also here to prevent you committing two mass genocides..."

"Ah yes. Shame that..." said Immanuel, not sounding the least bit like he cared.

"A _Shame_? You callous monster, do the lives of thousands of people not matter to you, all in the pointless aim to murder one woman?" shouted Harry angrily.

"No, Harry Potter, they don't. And yes, I know who you are. You're a very remarkable wizard. In all of our time here, we have never witnessed a more intriguing and significant wizard than you-"

"Yes, just how long _have_ you been on Earth? And how many are you?" asked the Doctor coldly.

"There are five of us here. We arrived in the early fourteenth century. We had been scanning world after world for millennia, and this Earth registered as a prime location, so we paid it a visit. And what a world we found, teeming with her vermin derivatives, a new genus of wizards! She was obviously here!"

"You've been here for the best part of seven hundred years?" asked the Doctor incredulously, "Impossible. I would have noticed an alien presence like yours in such a long span of history!"

"But, I presume, you never noticed the thousands of witches and wizards that adorn this world?" asked Immanuel, smirking.

"That's different-"

"Hardly. We have been just as secretive as the wizards, Doctor, despite the fact they have forgotten their true purpose, remaining secretive for the sake of being secretive apparently-"

"So, what have you been doing for nearly seven hundred years? Narrowing down her location?"

"Indeed. We are so very patient, Doctor. But finding the Queen has been just one our aims here..."

"What else could you possibly want?"

"Before I answer that, I should first say that the wizards here are very different to the norm. The Queen's transitimisation was very special, and it created something quite powerful. The witches and wizards of the Earth have a great capacity for magic, and that intrigued us. At first, we had no idea how long it would take to find the Queen, so we initially planned to wipe out all of her guard, even if they didn't know that was their true calling, using a specially engineered virus to leave the Queen defenceless. Yes, killing the Queen would wipe them all out anyway, but, like I said, we didn't know how long it would take to find her, and who knew what these witches and wizards could become in that time? But the virus did very little against them, mutating to form a virus that affected non-magical people instead. It became the Black Death..."

"You caused the Black Death?" asked Clara, astounded.

"No, the Queen caused it..." said Immanuel viciously.

"_No_, _you_ engineered the virus!"

"No, we engineered a very different virus, but it was coded into the DNA of the wizards that such a virus would mutate to kill non-magical people instead, keeping her guard intact..."

"What would be the point in that?" asked Ron.

"The Queen knew her transitimisation wouldn't be able to change _all_ the people of the Earth into witches and wizards, especially seeing as she was focusing all her efforts onto creating something new and powerful. She interpreted the inevitable non-magical people as just as much of a threat as Demonkind, and so designed her guards with this little mutation in mind. Convert as many as possible, and slay the rest. Why do you think the non-magical people here have so many diseases and illnesses compared to you? Any disease that affects _you_ would mutate to something that affects _them_, by _her _handiwork..."

"That doesn't make _any_ sense. Why would she consider Muggles to be a threat to her?"

"Well, what _benefit_ would they have been? They weren't converted, so how could they help her? This is how vindictive and egocentric the Queen was. She wanted a world consisting of only her guard, to guarantee at least one angle of safety, but not even she foresaw her own guard forgetting about her!"

"You lie..." proclaimed the Doctor, "You are trying to turn me away from this task, but what you are forgetting is that millions of lives are at risk, and that takes precedent over anything-"

"I have no need to lie. My prerogatives, which I will soon come to, are more than sufficient to turn you away, Doctor. I am merely telling you the facts surrounding the Queen and how much she has damaged this world, your precious Earth, Doctor. She was, and still is, a threat to this world-"

"I'm considering you a much bigger one, frankly..." said the Doctor darkly.

"So, what else do you want here?" asked Clara, "You said you had other aims..."

"Ah yes. Got a bit sidetracked there. Well, when the virus failed, we realised that what the Queen had created here was remarkable. She had made you lot far too powerful and advanced for her own good, and within a few centuries you had developed and progressed enough to the extent you had forgotten all about her! With their nature in mind, we had to rethink our actions, and, if we couldn't destroy you biologically, we would attempt to destroy you socially..."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry heatedly.

"We spread rumours, encouraged witch trials and anti-magic sentiment amongst the Churches, and used our powers to slowly try and influence people over the centuries..."

"Powers?" asked the Doctor inquisitively, raising an eyebrow.

"Surely you must know all Carrionite sects possess powers of manipulation, influence and, in suitable circumstances, control over other creatures? It's how I became Prime Minister..."

"Well, if that's true, you failed. Muggles in general remain completely ignorant of our existence..." said Ron, smirking defiantly at Immanuel.

"Well, it's not from a lack of trying, believe me. The non-magical people here are so very dense and insular. It's taken a very long time to condition them to open them minds just a little, slowly slide in little facets of magic here and there. I've had a Demon recently appointed as Secretary of State for Education, influenced into position by my powers, to change the school curriculum ever so slightly..."

"So that's why Artie and Angie's schoolwork is so full of wizard contexts!" remarked Clara, "You've been pressing it into their lives, burying it into their subconscious!"

"Quite..." smiled Immanuel.

"What's the point? Exposing the wizards won't aid you in your pursuit of the Queen..." remarked the Doctor.

"Well, not necessarily. At first, we hoped all this 'mind-opening' would destabilize their society by turning the non-magical lot against them, thus making the Queen defenceless, which is what we originally hoped from the virus. Then, when we eventually found her location, killing her would be a cinch! But, that clearly wasn't happening. The non-magical lot were too stubborn. But we kept doing it. Do you want to know why?"

"Do enlighten me..."

"Because it's just so much..._fun_..."

"_Fun_?" demanded Harry, disbelieving.

"Oh yes, it's very fun. The mere premise of societal disintegration is incredibly appealing, and is immensely entertaining to us. We Demons love discord you see, especially when we slowly make it happen. We've got to entertain ourselves somehow..."

"You're disgusting..." muttered Harry fiercely.

"Sticks and stones..." said Immanuel apathetically.

"So, when you weren't entertaining yourselves with your rather revolting interpretation of fun, I suppose you were hard at work finding out where she has hidden?" asked the Doctor coldly.

"Indeed. It took us a long time, but, with perseverance and hard work, we have come very, very far..."

"How did you find out about the architect Quentin Blakeworthy? How did you know he was involved?"

"It was a simple connection really. The Queen crashed into Africa, and by the time we arrived, she was gone from the crash site. Someone must have moved her, and only a wizard, as the tribes that venerated her had applied secrecy charms that repelled all non-magical people. So, it was simply a matter of looking through old journals, and newspaper articles, until we found a wizard who had travelled to that part of Africa. Fortunately for us, Quentin Blakeworthy fit that profile at once. A young architect, he had travelled to Kenya as part of his university degree, to study African wizarding structures. The building he studied, published openly as part of his degree, matched the first hiding place of the Queen, the Pyramid of Hasrion. We found the published documents, and voila..."

"Yes, you destroyed that pyramid, didn't you? I've seen the cratered remains of that ancient civilisation..."

"It was the first thing we did after we arrived. The place was obvious, and she was rather poorly hidden to say the least. Blowing up the city was a rather impulsive move on our behalf, I admit, but she ultimately wasn't there. The slippery minx had been moved..."

"So I imagine you were then transfixed on Quentin?"

"Of course. He had died long before we arrived, but he had made his mark on this country. Quite literally, in fact. He ended up designing nearly every major magical building in Britain, aside from Hogwarts. The Queen must have seen his potential immediately..."

"Potential?"

"Well, if you want something hidden, hire an architect, don't you think? Best people for the job. They can design the most magnificent and complicated of labyrinths, keeping their secrets immortalised and protected for an eternity. She must have been ecstatic to find such a skilled individual, and he whisked her away to Britain at once. She must have transfixed him with her influences. Even though it would create a paper trail, she ordered him to publish his findings in Kenya, in order to secure his degree and give him a reputation..."

"So, assumedly, you then went looking for anything to do with Blakeworthy?"

"Correct. He was a pretty prolific figure, so it was easy to collect information. He built as many buildings as he could, to make it as difficult as possible for us to find her. To see which one of his buildings contains the Queen, we required their very architectural plans, which we have very recently procured-"

"Yes, I've seen your light-fingered thievery from Bose-Carbora. How did you know the plans were there?"

"The monastery was another one of his creations. He built it at the request of one of his Muggle friends, and he was buried in its graveyard..."

"You didn't answer my question..."

"Simple really. According to the historical planning office, available in the Muggle domain as it was a Muggle building, the foundations of Bose-Carbora were twelve feet deeper than necessary, indicating-"

"-A lower level. Ahah, brilliant. Simple, but obvious..." commented the Doctor.

"Quite. He must have hidden the plans somewhere, to aid anyone who came to help the Queen, and that seemed the most likely location..."

"Only took you seven hundred years..." smirked the Doctor.

"Alas, that is true. But, like I said, we are very patient, and this task was difficult. Quentin did a very thorough job, it must be said..."

"But you only took the plans of Quentin's London buildings? You must be very confident that she's here in London, then..." commented the Doctor, surprised but rather alarmed at how willing Immanuel was to divulge all of this.

"We are certain. London's the best place to hide something in Britain. There's so much going on, that you can drown anything in its mass. Not only this, but there's quite a lot of magic around London on closer inspection, more than we would presume..."

"Right. So, what do you expect? Quentin to have marked a big old X on the hiding spot?"

"No. But he would have left clues, or hidden inscriptions, in case, like I said before, people came to recover the Queen..."

"So what, you find which building she's in, storm it with all your Prime Minister powers, and slaughter the queen? Several centuries of narrowing down, just to kill one woman? How unbelievably petty and pathetic!"

"Tell me, Doctor, if someone kills millions of your people, how could you _not_ want revenge? You're no stranger to that, Time Lord. You act your revenge on the Daleks whenever you have the opportunity..."

"That is _not_ true-"

"And _you, _Harry Potter..." he said, turning to face Harry, "Voldemort killed your parents, and harmed your magical world considerably, and so _you_ desired revenge against _him_-"

"You misinterpret my actions. I did what I did because it was _right_, not for revenge..."

"Then I can consider my cause of action as one that is right and just. It is no different to either of your personal cases! Besides, I have told you about the maliciousness of the Queen-"

"And I told you, I don't believe you, and don't act as if you have the moral upper hand! Correct me if I'm wrong, but you weren't you at war with the White Witches, and had already killed millions of them!? Surely, what the Queen did to your race was merely an act of retaliation?"

"A war which _they _started!"

"The White Witches told me _you _started the hostilities-"

"Well, of course, they _would_ say that!"

The Doctor fell silent. By this point, him and Immanuel were standing very close, eyes intensely locked.

"Regardless of anything that has happened historically, the witches and wizards _here_ are innocent, and have performed no transgressions against you..."

"They are the filth of the Queen, a vermin that needs extinguishing. Can't you see that, Doctor?"

"_What_? I could _never_ see from such a disgusting viewpoint. Even if your story about the Black Death was true, which I take the liberty of doubting, that was something involuntary and without intent on their behalf. They have done nothing against this world _themselves_..."

Immanuel gave an icy laugh.

"Maybe you should learn more about the war they had recently..." said Immanuel, "A war very much like our own! The war between Voldemort and Harry Potter, and all the factions involved on either side...

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Well, first you should consider how a wizard as evil as Voldemort could be born if all of wizardkind on Earth resulted from the transitimisation of such a moral and virtuous Queen. That should be a sizeable indicator of her true nature. Secondly, their war not just devastated their own world, but non-magical society here as well. Thousands of non-magical people perished at Voldemort's hands-"

"Voldemort acted on his own selfish agenda. He was evil, yes, but he had no indication of the Queen-" stated Harry.

"Well, obviously, _none _of youhave no indication of her, and yet he was still like that!"

"That's enough, Immanuel..." shot the Doctor, "You cannot deter me from this..."

"Oh, but I can. My prerogatives, remember? They will be exercised..."

"Explain yourself..."

"Well, unless you want the Earth and its people to be devastated, you will not interfere in this affair any further..."

The Doctor fell silent for a few seconds.

"You don't have that sort of power, Immanuel. Your psionic powers are formidable, we've seen them firsthand back at Bose-Carbora, but there are six billion people in this world, and the wizards here are more than capable of fighting you..."

"Are you forgetting my new found _power_? I am the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom..."

The Doctor paused, scrutinizing Immanuel very curiously.

"I have control over the United Kingdom's Trident nuclear deterrent programme. One call from me, I can bombard the rest of the world with devastation, and the rest of the world will naturally retaliate. Mutually assured destruction, I believe they call it..."

"You'd be annihilated..." whispered the Doctor incredulously.

"Not in the slightest. Our spacecraft orbits in the upper atmosphere. We can ride out the devastation comfortably from there and watch the humans _burn _in agony. I'd rather it not come to that, if I'm being honest, as I'm positively itching to slit the Queen's throat, but, hey, it's your call. A couple of centuries later, when it's all calmed down, we can resume our search. So take heed, Doctor..."

"You're bluffing. If you really had control over the Trident missiles, then you'd have nuked London already, killing the Queen instantly..."

"A nuclear explosion would not kill her. She would be extremely well protected, and I'd rather not scavenge through the radioactive remains of the south-east of England - not if I can avoid it. Besides, I'm Prime Minister - what makes you think that I'm bluffing at all? Nuclear control is a signature aspect of a Prime Minister's power, and why would I tell you any of this if I wasn't so confident in my capabilities to deter you?"

"So that's why you became Prime Minister in the first place..." murmured the Doctor, utterly shocked by this turn of events.

"Well, one of the reasons..."

"What else?"

"A military never goes amiss, frankly. But, yes, as we are so close to accomplishing our goal, I needed to have sufficient prerogatives to deter you, just in case we crossed paths..."

The Doctor regarded Immanuel fearfully. He smiled victoriously into the Doctor's face.

"Now. My Demon brethren informed me earlier that you found an _object_, of sorts, at Bose-Carbora. Apparently, they heard you say that it was...ah...a valuable lead?"

The Doctor said nothing, completely lost as to what to do.

"Unless you want me to..._exercise my prerogatives_, I heavily recommend handing it over..."

The Time Lord and the Demon stared at each other for a very long time. Eventually, the Doctor, internally dismayed, reached into his coat pocket and, with every fibre of his being resisting the move, handed the conceited Demon the journal of Quentin Blakeworthy.

"Thank you very much..." uttered Immanuel, regarding the journal, "Hmm, now this _is _a very interesting find. The journal of Quentin Blakeworthy...intriguing. I'm now almost grateful you _did _stumble upon us, Doctor, we would have probably never found this object..."

"You haven't won..." murmured the Doctor.

"I very much believe I have, and I didn't even have to use my abilities of influence to make it happen. Now, depart, Doctor, and keep your distance from this whole affair. When we're done, we'll leave the Earth post-haste. You'll get a human back as Prime Minister, and your world will be free of her influence. No one loses!"

Ron lashed forward, his fist clenched, all concepts of magic forgotten in the heat of the moment, but was restrained firmly by Harry.

"Well, no one of importance loses..." he said spitefully, "Good day, Time Lord..."

The Demon left the room promptly without a second glance, leaving the Doctor utterly speechless, his mind furiously working to create a resolution, a way around the formidable prerogatives that the monster held over him...

What the _hell_ was he going to do?

* * *

**Sorry, again, for the delay, but I'm very proud of this chapter and hope you like it. Reviews are very welcome :) Next chapter soon (I hope). **


	12. In The Face of Adversity

**Chapter 12: In The Face of Adversity**

"Doctor, what are we going to do?" asked Harry tensely, breaking the silence that had fallen since the Demon had left the Pillared Room of 10 Downing Street. He had left the Doctor frozen on the spot, taken aback by the revelation of his prerogatives. Not many foes had ever managed to leave him speechless.

"I...I..." stammered the Doctor.

"Well?" demanded Ron, impatiently.

"Just give him a moment..." pressed Clara, "He can always figure these things out. Can't you, Doctor?"

The Doctor remained silent, fervently straightening his bowtie, his mind racing.

"Doctor?" pressed Clara, anxiously.

"I...I'm not sure..." admitted the Doctor finally, turning to face his companions.

"You're not _sure_!?"

"Well, this is very different to what I expected. I didn't realise that they were _this _desperate to kill her. Sure, I knew they would be angry at what she did, but this is borderline psychotic!"

"But you must be able to do _something_!"

"Aldeborne is threatening the sanctity of the Earth with nuclear weapons, and, frankly, that's a pretty difficult defence to trump! It's the Slitheen all over again..."

"Do you really think they'll do that, though? Everything he said sounded so meticulous and planned out. Nuclear missiles sound so...impulsive..." suggested Clara.

"Well, he said that he doesn't _want_ to use them, they're just a contingency, a deterrent in more ways than just one, to keep me out of this affair..." he explained, "And this period of time is fixed, remember? I just hope it's fixed for positive reasons..."

"If he wants to deter you, then that means _he_ thinks you can truly rescue the Queen, which means you can still help us-"

"Are you ignoring what I just said-"

"You can just work out _what _we need to do. Be the clever twat you clearly are, decode Quentin's last entry in that journal, and let _us _recover her!" argued Harry.

"You _could _find her, yes, but only _I_ have the capabilities of taking her to safety with my TARDIS. Whilst she's on Earth, she's not safe. Besides, if the Demons suspect she is being rescued by _anyone_, they're likely to just blow up London to eliminate the threat!"

"Isn't there anyone who can help us? Get the White Witches, or something!"

"Their powers diminish outside of Crixsos, Cephenrene told us so, and I showed you that memory! They would be of little help to us. However, there do exist organisations on Earth with the sole purpose of countering alien threats, but I fear that, if I try and contact them and the Demons somehow find about it, the Demons will interpret the action as one of continuing interference from me, and we know the consequences of that..."

The Doctor paced back and forth over the marble tiles of the Pillared Room, threading his hands through his hair.

"Argh!" he uttered in frustration after a few seconds, " Everyone, back in the TARDIS. I need a place to think, some fresh air. I know the perfect place..."

* * *

A few moments later, the TARDIS materialised on the outskirts of Trafalgar Square. It was now early afternoon, and the famous London square was awash with lunchtime commuters and tourists, the vast majority of people fervently regarding newspapers emblazoned with headlines surrounding Immanuel Aldeborne, none of them paying any attention to the blue box that had just materialised in their midst.

The Doctor rushed out of the TARDIS at once, followed closely by Harry, Ron and Clara, the former two rather bemused by their new location.

"Trafalgar Square? Why the hell are we here?"

"It's a nice place. Very introspective, which is what I need right now..." replied the Doctor, as he sat down on a metal bench adjacent to Cockspur Street. The other three sat around him, Clara on his left, Harry and Ron on his right, the TARDIS, behind them, blending in rather well within the environment.

"Didn't anyone realise that a blue box just appeared out of nowhere?" remarked Ron, "It's not really something you can ignore, and I speak from personal experience..."

"The TARDIS has a low level perception filter, the same device the Demons use to mask their form. It automatically blends in to the environment. But, here, I don't think it matters to much..." he commented, regarding the commuters around him, "It seems the new Prime Minister has got their direct attention for now, which is only natural..."

"All those photographs of _him_..." said Harry distantly, watching the Muggles around him reading newspapers with earnest, "All I can see is his true Demon form, but no one here can see through it..."

"Humans are easily fooled, in general, by perception filters..." explained the Doctor, "I've lost count of the number of alien species who use them when they come here. Saturnynes, Prisoner Zero, Tenza, a flat in Colchester, hell, even the stone lions over there in the square were once masqueraded by aliens called Endovorms using a perception filter..."

"So...a lot of aliens have come to Earth, then? Not just these Demons?"

"Oh yes. Lots, and lots, but most people hardly notice them. Or, perhaps, choose not to think about them. It's human nature to reject the seemingly impossible, or the unlikely, a trait which makes perception filters work so well on you lot, and so many aliens take advantage of that..."

"Well, I imagine we didn't just come here for you to tell us about perception filters and human nature. So, really, why are we here?"

"I told you why - I needed some fresh air, as that always aids cognitive ability, which we need as we must devise a plan of action, but first..." he said, directing his attention directly towards the two wizards, "I want to talk more about this Voldemort..."

"What? Voldemort? Doctor, we don't have the time-"

"If I'm helping you, I really want to know who I'm helping..."

"Doctor, you know what we are-"

"Yes, I know what you are, but as much as I don't want to admit that Immanuel had a point, he _did _have a point about this Voldemort. A wizard like Voldemort shouldn't have born if the Queen was such a good person, even with human nature added to the mix..."

"Does it really matter if _she's _a good person? All of _us_ here _are _good people, and all of our lives are at risk, and, like you said to Immanuel, that should take precedent over everything..." retorted Ron impatiently.

"But it's more than that. Everything I have seen from you indicates that you wizards are far more advanced than the White Witches, and I would go as far as to say that, although they would never admit it, you're probably even more advanced than the Demons themselves! They came here looking for revenge, but I believe they have spent quite some time analysing you lot, wondering what the hell the Queen had made here. I think they secretly fear you, but they would never admit that. You are radically different to any of the psionic species of old..."

"What has this got to do with Voldemort?"

"Well, what if you have become too advanced? Voldemort sounds like a pretty powerful and evil individual to me. And, is it true what Immanuel said - that Voldemort harmed the non-magical world here?"

"Yes, some of the damage did leak out into the Muggle world, Voldemort was particularly anti-Muggle after all, but-"

"And that matches up to what Immanuel said. A latent gene, probably buried deep in your DNA in the rush of the transitimisation, to kill the 'Muggles', because the Queen originally considered them a threat-"

"Doctor, you can't honestly think he was telling the truth, it didn't make any sense-"

"The gene would be picked up by some, and the original intents of the Queen would be carried out - to leave a world consisting of only her magical guard-"

"I admit, there is some anti-Muggle sentiment amongst our people, but not _all_ of us hate Muggles!"

"And I believe you. But, you are such an advanced race, and your evolution is so seemingly rapid. What if you evolve to become something which is a more substantial threat to this world?"

"Doctor!" remarked Clara, looking almost shocked at the Doctor's words, "It doesn't matter _what _they _may_ become. What matters is that there are innocent people, not just here but on Crixsos as well, at risk right now! You need to stop thinking about what that horrible Demon said, and instead consider what is actually important here - _life_. Yes, maybe the Queen had dubious intentions, but that can't be changed, and is certainly not their fault! And, may I remind you what you said to Immanuel, which Ron so correctly reaffirmed a second ago; lives at risk should take precedent over everything..."

The Doctor stared at his companion, and realised he was being as callous as the Demons had been. She returned his stare fiercely, and, after a few seconds, he dropped his resolve.

"I'm...sorry, Harry, Ron..." he uttered quietly, "Clara...Clara is right. I _should_ being focusing on what matters...but do understand. This world means an awful lot to me..."

"And it means a lot to us as well. We may be a secretive and isolated society, Doctor, but we still care about this world. We don't pretend that it doesn't exist around us..." pressed Harry.

"And, for every dark wizard like Voldemort that rises..." commented Ron, "A good wizard rises to face him. Harry here faced Voldemort, and managed to overcome him..."

"Yes, you said you killed him..." said the Doctor, "You said it was the only way..."

"It was. It's a long story, but I defeated him, for the sanctity of not just our world, but the Muggle world as well. It's how I got the honour I mentioned, the Crixsom Benignhood..."

"Oh yeah, that was the word which sounded a lot like "Crixsos"..." commented Clara.

"Oh..." said the Doctor, a sudden realisation popping into his brain which hadn't occurred to him earlier, "That's interesting..."

"What is it?" they all asked together.

"Well, I said earlier that it must be a derivation of vocabulary from the White Witches, passed on via the transitimisation. But it's not a mistranslation or anything; the two words mean different things..." he said, racking his brain, "I believe Crixsom roughly translates, in the language of the White Witches, as... 'good heart', I think, and 'Crixsos' translates as 'world of the good hearts'. Thinking about it, Cephenrene said I had a good heart; it must be a quality they look for on the 'world of the good hearts', I suppose..."

"Well, that settles it..." said Clara, "Harry has a good heart. They're not monsters, they're _humans_, Doctor, and good people. Now, we've got to help them..."

"You're right, Clara, we don't have much time. We need to form a plan..."

"So you are actually going to help us?" asked Ron.

"Yes. Do bear in mind, however, that any plan we make must hinge around the possibility of nuclear war..."

"That's understandable..." stated Harry.

"Ok, so let's start with what we know..." stated Clara.

"Good idea, Clara. So, we now know that if we try to recover the Queen from this planet, the Demons will launch nuclear missiles in every direction they can..."

"How many nuclear missiles do the Muggles have in Britain?" asked Clara.

"About twenty, at a guess, but that doesn't matter. If they fire just one, the rest of the world will retaliate. Mutually assured destruction, Clara, you know that from our trip to that Russian submarine. Immanuel has had plenty of time to think this one through over the centuries, working out precisely how to try and prevent me getting involved..."

"But he's only just become Prime Minister. How come?"

"Well, I suppose they're so close now to completing their task, they're preparing their resources for the final phase - actually getting her. Not to mention, I'm in regular contact with most of the Prime Ministers of this country; Immanuel explained the purpose of the 'Pillared Room' earlier. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. In any event, though, it's lucky for him that he didn't become Prime Minister any sooner. The post of Prime Minister has been contested by other aliens several times in the past few years..."

"What are you talking about?" asked Clara, shocked.

"Don't you remember Harold Saxon?"

"What, the one-day Prime Minister? _He _was an alien?"

"Well, technically he lasted longer than a day, but that was in an aborted timeline. But, yes, he was an alien, in fact another Time Lord, but that doesn't particularly matter now. The post of Prime Minister was also contested by the Slitheen back in 2006, who, like the Demons, were attempting to use nuclear missiles, but I stopped them..."

"How did you manage that?"

"By launching a missile into Downing Street..." admitted the Doctor, "I was...a rather more violent person back then, shall we say..."

"_You're _the one who blew up Downing Street?" demanded Clara.

"Well, I was out of options, but it worked!"

"Then do it again!" said Harry urgently.

"The Demons are _far_ more powerful than the Slitheen. The most threatening thing about the Slitheen was their _farts_ for goodness' sake! The Demons are strong, formidable, and very, very clever..."

"You say that they're clever, but it's taken us mere hours to accomplish what they have in seven hundred years..." pointed out Ron.

"Not every species has the benefit of a time machine..." explained the Doctor.

"So, how long do you think it will take them to finalise the Queen's location?"

"They have Quentin's architectural plans, and they have now acquired his journal. We probably have days at the most..."

"Well, we may not have the journal anymore, but we still remember Quentin's last entry. _Like all good mysteries, she is hidden where the mysteries are not mysterious at all_..." recollected Harry.

"Have you had any clever thoughts about what they means yet?" asked Clara to the Doctor.

"I'm still working on it, but I'm not the expert in this situation, to be honest. Quentin was a wizard architect, and so, really, you two should be the experts..." he said, gesturing at the wizards.

"What do you mean?" they asked.

"Well, _I _don't know what wizarding buildings are in London. You listed them to me, yes, but you guys _know _them, presumably. Their layouts, their rooms, you have familiarity with them. Surely something must click..."

"Well, let me think..." said Harry, "_Like all good mysteries, she is hidden where the mysteries are not mysterious at all_..." he repeated under his breath.

"Well, I think we can rule out Platform Nine and Three Quarters..." said Ron, "It's a bloody train station, there's no room to hide something there..."

"Yeah, but Ron, the entire Platform is _literally_ hidden, it's still a pretty good place to hide something..."

"I'm sorry, Platform Nine and _Three Quarters_?" asked Clara dubiously.

"It's the platform for Hogwarts at King's Cross. That's...another long story..." explained Harry.

"Ok, so what about Diagon Alley?" asked Ron.

"I don't think so. It has Gringotts, which is a great hiding place, but I don't think Blakeworthy built that. I think Goblins built that place. And as for the rest of the alley, well, it seems a bit too public..."

"Goblins?" asked the Doctor, shocked, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Yeah, we have goblins. And loads of other magical creatures. Speaking of that...how did the transitimisation create them, when they're non-human?" asked Ron.

"That's...a very good question..." said the Doctor, bemusedly, "I suppose, the psionic particles of the transitimisation may have mutated other species as well, but only by accident. Maybe these 'goblins' are just an evolutionary derivative of the original wizards..."

"I suppose that makes a little sense...I think. Anyway, what about St. Mungo's?" asked Ron to Harry.

"In a hospital? I wouldn't say that there are any mysteries per se at St. Mungo's, well, other than the Mysterious Malady ward. It doesn't seem to fit Quentin's last entry. What about the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Again, too public..."

"Well, that really just leaves the Ministry of Magic-"

They both went silent; the Doctor eyed them curiously, interested in the sudden looks of realisation on their faces.

"Harry, I think we've been idiots..."

"It seems so bloody obvious..."

"What? You think she's in the Ministry of Magic?" asked the Doctor.

"It's more than that..." said Harry, standing up, "_She's must be in the Department of Mysteries_..."

"The place the TARDIS was moved to earlier, with that strange woman?" asked the Doctor.

"Yeah! The Department is dedicated to investigating strange and dark magic, oddities, mysterious and unusual artefacts, etcetera, a banner which your TARDIS easily fell under. It's where mysteries aren't mysterious at all - they're commonplace, in fact! She must be hidden _there_!"

"_Brilliant_!" said the Doctor, kissing Harry and Ron on the foreheads (which temporally dazed them), "And that makes a lot of sense, to be honest. Why did the TARDIS take me straight to the Ministry when I followed the Receptacle? I thought it was a confusion of psionic signatures, but it looks like she actually _was _hidden in the Ministry of Magic all along, that's why the TARDIS took Clara and I there! The Receptacle was correct!"

"But why didn't the TARDIS take you _straight_ to her?" asked Harry.

"There is a large amount of interference in the Ministry, remember? The interference must be a residue of her protection, impeding materialisation directly into her hiding place. In short, the interference restricts materialisation to some extent..."

"Well this is brilliant! We know where she is, and that gives us a head start over the Demons!" exclaimed Ron enthusiastically.

"But wait..." said Clara, suddenly concerned, "If the Demons are as clever as you say they are, Doctor, and the decrypting of Quentin's last entry came about as simple as that..."

She broke off, the Doctor regarding her anxiously.

"How long do you think it will take the Demons to work that out as well?"

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Downing Street, two shrouded figures walked up the now empty path leading to number 10, a lone police guard opening the glossy black door as they approached. They quickly filtered inside, and the door was shut promptly behind them.

"Why is it so empty in here?" asked Suliass'gh, regarding the vacant entrance corridor.

"Dtstraie has had minor influence over the staff here in Downing Street for years, remember? Now that he has ascended to the premiership, he's keen to have a quiet working environment..." replied his companion, Diazsay.

"I suppose that's fine, providing that it doesn't raise suspicion..."

"Dtstraie would never let that happen. Now, let us proceed upstairs..."

The pair speedily marched up the wooden staircase of number 10, stopping at the third floor. They entered the Prime Minister's private office to see Dtstraie standing, leaning against the wooden boards, reading a book with fervent interest, whilst Eyauoiea sat as the desk, scanning the architectural plans.

"Ah, brethren, you have returned!" said Dtstraie, not looking up from the book.

"Sorry for the delay, Dtstraie. The Time Lord outfoxed us at Bose-Carbora, and it took us some time for our magic to recuperate..."

"No damage is done..." said Dtstraie simply, "I have made our position very clear to the Time Lord and I am very confident he will not interfere any further..."

"So he did come to see you..." said Diazsay.

"Indeed. I knew his attachment to this world would overcome his desire to help the wizards. But I also told him about how much the wizards and the Queen threaten this world, so, in time, maybe he'll even come to thank us..."

Diazsay chuckled, whilst Suliass'gh regarded the book in Dtstraie's hands.

"So, he gave you the book he found at Bose-Carbora..." commented Suliass'gh, "What precisely is it? We only heard him describe it as something that may give them an advantage over us..."

"It hardly seems so significant. This is the personal journal of Quentin Blakeworthy. I have been reading the entries, and all it has provided me so far is additional reassurance that we have gone down the right path by focusing our efforts on Blakeworthy..."

"So it complements our research on him?"

"Yes, indeed. Every deduction about his life that we have made has been shown to be true by his journal. Regardless, I haven't found anything that would be considered advantageous just yet, if I'm being honest. Ah, I have now reached the point where, judging by the sudden change in calligraphy, the Queen took hold of Quentin's mind. My goodness, he considered her 'a fallen angel of God'..." mocked Dtstraie vindictively.

All the Demons but the determined Eyauoiea, who was concentrating indomitably at the task in hand, laughed loudly at this comment.

"I don't know what's funnier..." guffawed Dtstraie, "The fact that these humans cling so strongly to pathetic fairy tales of higher beings, or the fact he considered her to be, of all things, an _angel_..."

He broke off suddenly, his eyes locked onto the pages of the journal, his mouth falling open.

"Dtstraie...what is it?" asked Suliass'gh quietly.

He said nothing for a few seconds, his eyes darting back and forth on the contents of the journal. Even Eyauoiea turned away from her work to regard the scene.

"_She is hidden where the mysteries are not mysterious at all_..." read Dtstraie, "His final entry, in 1189..."

He turned to look at Suliass'gh and Diazsay, and then turned to Eyauoiea, who was smirking slightly.

"Does that sentence have significance, Eyauoiea?" asked Dtstraie.

"Oh goodness yes..." she said, excitedly, "I've been studying these plans for some time now, and there's one place in London which corresponds with that cryptic entry. And here we are thinking Quentin did a thorough and thought out job! Hardly so, if he makes the critical error of writing something so palpable in a _journal_ of all things!"

"Well, we completely overlooked the journal when we ransacked Bose-Carbora. We would have remained forever ignorant of its existence if it wasn't for the Doctor, so he's more at fault than Quentin is..." commented Diazsay.

"That doesn't matter..." said Dtstraie impatiently, "Where is she hidden, Eyauoiea? Tell us at once..."

"In the Ministry of Magic, Dtstraie. Assemble the Muggle military. It's now time, after seven hundred years of patience, for us to finally achieve our long awaited revenge..."

* * *

**The finale approaches... As always, reviews are very welcome :)**


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